


His Father's War

by AgentFontySeven



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Drama, Gen, Military, Pre-Season/Series 04, SAINW, Same As It Never Was, Time Travel, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6843820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentFontySeven/pseuds/AgentFontySeven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After witnessing their Master's death and the destruction of Earth, the Turtles and their two human friends are rescued by a mysterious robot called the Fugitoid. However, before their new quest with this strange mechanical man can get underway, the six teens are suddenly ripped through time to a bleak future none of them could have imagined. New York is a warzone, the Shredder's influence grows stronger by the day, and the Turtle's future counterparts - now adults - have split apart and are each fighting just to survive. Can the young time travelers reunite their future counterparts, end this war, and find a way back to their own timeline before it's too late?</p>
<p>Originally posted on my Fanfiction account Takashidaimao. Nominated for Best Tragedy in Stealthy Stories 2015 TMNT Fanfiction Competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Colonel

 Leonardo could do nothing but stare out at the bleak nothingness on the large view screen before him. Just moments before, that had been the spot where Earth had been. Now, just a massive swirl of dust and debris remained.

 “The Earth… Splinter… Everyone… _Everything_ …” he growled, hanging his head mournfully. Donatello and Raphael stood behind him, their eyes wide in shock. Donatello’s mouth hung open a bit.

 “Gone… Lost forever in an infinite gravitational singularity…” he mumbled quietly, as though he hadn’t believed it himself until he’d hear himself say it.

 “Holy pepperoni…” Michelangelo breathed out from where he had collapsed against the side of the ship’s control panel. Everything they’d ever known, _gone_. Just like that. It was too much for them to bear.

 “Watching your entire world vanish into the quantum singularity of a black hole _is_ rather distressing…” came a voice from behind the youngest of the four turtles, a slight mechanical timbre overlaying its markedly casual-tone. Michelangelo looked up, meeting the glowing orange optics of the strange little robot that had rescued the six of them just moments earlier. The robot gave an indecipherable beep, holding out a white ceramic cup to the strange terrapin creature.

 “Can I offer you some hot cocoa?” it offered. A small smile spread across Mikey’s face and he eagerly accepted. He licked his lips slightly, staring down into the creamy contents of the cup with hungry eyes for a moment. He paused just before taking a sip, however. Hadn’t his Sensei ever told him not to accept drinks from strange robots? No, he didn’t suppose he’d ever had the opportunity to advise them against something so specific, but it still sounded like something Splinter would warn him against.

 “Dude, who _are_ you?” Mikey asked, turning his baby blue eyes up towards the mechanical man once more. The robot brought its fingers together in front of it, answering the turtle’s question quite matter-of-factly.

 “My name is Professor Zayton Honeycutt… And you, my friends, are about to embark on a wondrous adventure.”

 There was a long moment of silence as the six teens let this new development sink in. The turtles looked between one another, as if trying to gauge just how much the other trusted this strange robot that claimed to be a professor. Suddenly, a loud cheer from the back of the group pulled their attention away from the robot.

 “This… is… _awesome!_ ” Casey Jones shouted, throwing his arms up in the air. He half expected his excitement to become infectious, for the others to break out into cheers as well. What he got were five pairs of eyes glaring in his direction. Raphael let out a growl, marching up to the human teen and grabbing hold of the collar of his vest.

 “Awesome? _Awesome?!_ Our entire planet just got sucked into a black hole and you think that’s _awesome?!”_ Raph shouted, his whole body shaking with rage. How dare Casey just brush aside the deaths of eight billion people like that! How dare he forget that they had just watched their Master, their _Father,_ die! He pulled back a fist, preparing to drive it square against Casey’s jaw.

 “Raph, stop!” Leonardo shouted, rushing forward just in time to pull Casey out of his brother’s grasp. Casey let out a grunt as he was tossed to the side, rubbing at his neck as he looked back up at the two turtles. They were glaring at each other, both looking as though they were ready to draw their weapons at a moment’s notice.

 “What the matter, Leo?! Have you forgotten already, too?!” Raphael roared, his hands balling up into fists at his sides.

 “I think it’s _you_ who has forgotten! Look around you, Raph! We’re the only ones left out of the entire planet! We can’t start tearing each other apart! We have to stand united!” Leonardo retorted sharply. Raphael’s response was a deep growl, taking a challenging step forward.

 “’Stand united’ under who?! _You?!”_

 “I suppose you think _you_ could do a better job at leading?!”

 “I would have at least grabbed Sensei before running away on this spaceship like a coward!”

 That last remark seemed to hit home. Leo gritted his teeth, his fists clenching tightly at his sides.

 “Sensei was _dead!”_ Leonardo shouted, his tone losing its normal air of control.

 “We don’t know that for sure! Donnie could have done something to save him!”

 “Hey, don’t you drag _me_ into this! I don’t want any part in this mud-slinging contest!”

 Michelangelo could do nothing but watch helplessly from the sidelines as his three older brothers continued to squabble with each other. He sat with his shell against Professor Honeycutt’s control station, pulling his legs up against his chest and hugging his knees close. He just wanted to go home. He just wanted his friends and his Sensei to be alive again. He just wanted it all to go back to the way it had been before the Triceratons arrived.

 There was a soft sob, and at first Mikey had thought it had come from himself. He’d been on the verge of hopeless tears, after all. After a moment, he realized that the sound wasn’t coming from him. He looked up and spotted April, curled up in a far corner with her hands clasped tightly against the sides of her head, a soft sob coming from her every now and then. Mikey got up, quickly making his way over to her side.

 “April? You okay, dude?” he asked softly, kneeling down in front of her with a concerned look on his face. She didn’t look up, instead giving a pained whine.

 “I-it’s my head… I-it feels like it’s about to explode…” she whispered softly, choking back another involuntary sob of pain. Mikey stood up, turning back towards the others.

 “Yo, Donnie! Sumthin’s wrong with April! Can you come…” but his words were drowned out by the continual shouting between the other three.

 “I don’t care how much you believe I can do it, I’m _not_ a miracle worker! I can’t bring a whole planet back from utter destruction, and I can’t bring people back from the dead! Get it through your thick skull that science doesn’t work that way!”

 Michelangelo’s shoulders wilted and he let out a sigh. They always ignored him when he had something important to say. He looked back down at April, feeling helpless. What was he supposed to do now? He wasn’t all science-y like Donatello. He had no idea what he could do to help the poor girl. If they would just stop arguing for a few minutes…

 Suddenly, the whole ship seemed to rock. Michelangelo swung his arms in vain to try and keep his balance, but he quickly ended up falling flat on his shell. The other three finally stopped their fighting, each grabbing hold of something to keep from ending up like their little brother.

 “Doctor, what’s going on?!” Leo asked frantically, looking to the robot for answers. Professor Honeycutt, his smooth white fingers practically dancing over the controls, replied in as calm a tone as ever, despite what may be a drastic situation.

 “Firstly, I’m a _Professor_ , not a doctor. Secondly…” he corrected curtly. His head then spun around a full hundred and eighty degrees, his fingers never faltering in their course corrections as he looked back towards April. “My dear girl, I’d like to ask that you refrain from emitting telepathic shockwaves from your cranium. We’re currently flying through hyperspace and any disturbance to the hyperspacial field could result in serious temporal displacement, which would be rather… _bothersome_.”

 At the robot’s explanation, all eyes turned back towards April. She was still holding her head, golden waves of energy bursting forward from her forehead in huge, sweeping waves. Leonardo’s eyes widened. He remembered something like this happening before, just after Shredder had cut down their Sensei. He didn’t have enough time to turn to Donatello and ask him what was going on before one last shockwave turned the world to blackness.

 

* * *

 

 

 Leonardo groaned as he picked himself up off the ground, a hand moving up to rub at a spot on his head where he must have knocked into something in… the crash? What exactly had happened? He opened his eyes to look around, expecting to see the strange white plastic that made up the interior of Professor Honeycutt’s ship. What he saw instead drew a sharp gasp from him.

 He was standing in the middle of a ruined city. Buildings that once must have towered over the skyline lay toppled to the ground, their remains riddled with huge, charred holes. The heavy odor of smoke and blood and decay bit at his nostrils. He could hear shouts in the distance, the rattling of gunfire, then silence. It was quite clear what he had found himself in the midst of here. This was a battlefield.

 But it was a battlefield on _Earth_.

 He looked wildly around once more. The buildings, gutted and ruined though they were, looked just like the buildings he remembered seeing in New York. There was the occasional bit of writing on the side of a crumbled wall, sometimes graffiti, sometimes the remnants of a proper sign, but it was always in English. A body lay draped over a pile of wood that may once have been a crude barricade, its dark green uniform stained with dark splotches all over its torso. It was human. It could be no other place than on Earth.

 But how was that possible?! The Earth was destroyed! He’d watched it crumble, watched the pieces get sucked up into a black hole! To be here, standing in the middle of a _human_ city street… It was absolutely impossible!

 He heard movement, a couple of groans coming from behind him. He turned, watching as his brothers, Casey, and April all came to and started climbing to their feet. Leo allowed himself to let out a sigh of relief. Well, if he was going crazy, at least he wouldn’t be alone. The other five looked around in utter astonishment, just as he had done a moment ago. Clearly he wasn’t the only one seeing it.

 “Wooooaah, duuuude!” Mikey exclaimed slowly, turning in a circle as he took in the new surroundings. “Robot dude musta dropped us off on the Mad Max planet or somethin’!”

 “Mikey, I’d explain how ridiculous a ‘Mad Max’ planet would be, but that option is actually far more likely than… _this_.” Donatello replied, indicating the ruined city before them with a sweep of his arm. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this looks like we’re somewhere on Earth. Hell, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was New York City.”

 Leonardo shook his head at that, as though trying to clear the fog from his mind. New York City? How could that be? Was this some sort of cruel joke at their expense? Even if it truly was New York, how could it have gotten into this sorry state? The entire city looked as though the apocalypse had hit it with the force of an atomic bomb. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he saw zombies start to lumber out at them from the rubble.

 “Uhh… Guys? It gets worse…”

 The other three turtles looked up when they heard Raphael interject into the conversation. He was holding up a tattered piece of newspaper, likely something he’d picked out of the rubble nearby. They all gathered around, looking over each other to get a look at the headline. It read: ‘Bombing Strikes To Increase As Rebels Capture New York-Presbyterian Hospital.’

 “So this really _is_ New York…” Leonardo whispered to himself in despair. He’d been hoping that Donnie had been wrong for once.

 “That’s not all… Look at the date!” Donatello added, pointing to the top of the paper.

 “No way, dude! That’s crazy!” Michelangelo exclaimed, balancing precariously on the tips of his toes to try and get a better look at the paper. Leonardo was half-tempted to snatch the paper away, just so he could get a closer look himself. He read it. Read it again. Read it a third time, but he still couldn’t make himself believe it.

 The paper was dated November 15th, 2031. It was from more than fifteen years in the _future_.

 “Hey, guys! C’mere! You gotta see this!”

 The turtles looked up when they heard Casey calling out to them. They didn’t see him at first, but soon caught sight of a hand waving at them from behind a crumbled brick wall. The four of them vaulted over and found themselves standing in a fairly clear area that may have at one point been a small shop parking lot. Casey and April were standing over by a cinder block wall that once supported a local grocery store, but that now held only rows after rows of wanted posters. Most of them displayed faces that none of them knew, others were torn scraps, completely illegible. There was one that seemed to have captured the two human teens’ interest, though.

 “Would ya take a look at this mugshot?” Casey said with clear amusement, pointing with his thumb up at the largest and most prominent of the posters. The four turtles stared up in utter awe, their jaws hanging agape. The poster read: “Wanted, Dead or Alive, Rebel Leader, Colonel Hamato.” But what was truly astonishing was the mugshot, printed out in black and white. Intense, pale eyes stared back at them from what was surely a mutant turtle’s face framed by a dusty tactical scarf, a deep scar visible just to the left of his chin.

 “You gotta be kiddin’ me…” Raphael breathed out in astonishment, unable to take his eyes off that poster. Could this really be one of them in the future? Why would they be wanted? And why would they form some sort of rebellion? Against who? Surely not the government. They never gave a crap about human politics. Then, the answer hit him square in the face. Just below the mugshot of the turtle was the crest of the Foot Clan. _Shredder_.

 “Sweeeet! We’re totally have, like, some bad-ass rebel group fightin’ against Shredder in the future! How cool is that?!” Mikey practically squealed, gazing up at the poster with a glint of admiration in his eye.

 “Yeah, maybe, but… Which one of you guys do you think this is? The poster doesn’t give a first name, and I don’t see any others with a turtle on it.” April pointed out, squinting slightly as though, if she tried hard enough, the identity of the turtle would become clear to her. It was true, the turtle in the poster didn’t look like any of them, but that was to be expected after more than fifteen years. This turtle was an adult, clearly in his thirties, and his intense face seemed hardened by years of battle. He was just on the edge of recognition, but none of them could quite pin it down.

 “Well, I know it’s not me. The face is too wide and the eyes are too light.” Donatello determined after a moment of study, a somewhat relieved look on his face. He wasn’t much of the ‘rebel leader’ type anyway.

 “Ya think maybe it’s me?” Raphael wondered aloud with a small smirk, tilting his head sideways as though it would help him see some detail he might have missed. Leo narrowed his eyes slightly at his brother, a bit of their fight from earlier coming back to him.

 “I doubt it. Any rebels _you’d_ lead would get themselves killed right off the bat running themselves headlong into Shredder’s lair.” He replied spitefully, folding his arms across his chest. Raphael growled, turning to face his brother with renewed rage in his eyes.

 “And you think you’d do better?!”

 “Guys, _stop!”_

 The two were mere inches from each other’s faces and glaring intently when April’s voice rang out. They stopped, but it looked as though they had been reluctant to do so. Donatello let out a sigh, shaking his head at their antics before turning to April. His brow furrowed, noting a peculiar look on her face.

 “Something wrong, April? Are you sensing trouble?”

 “I… I don’t know… I’m sensing a lot of different minds out there. Some seem human enough, but others seem… mechanical. It’s all mixing together. I can’t tell who intends harm and who doesn’t.” she replied, closing her eyes in an effort to concentrate better. Donatello’s expression hardened. That she sensed the intent to do harm at all was enough for him.

 “Save it for later, you two! We’re gonna have trouble here in a minute!” Donatello growled at his two older brothers, his bo staff already drawn and at the ready. The two seemed to snap out of their little feud at that, each drawing their weapons and moving in close to the others.

 It was starting to get harder to see far off in the waning evening light, harder to see where the enemy was coming from. They pulled into a tight circle, each facing a different direction as they waited, watched, listened for any sign of movement. The light had almost faded into dusk before anything happened.

 A pair of glowing orange eyes emerged over the edge of a fallen wall, a dark figure crawling out of the rubble with spider-like movements. More eyes appeared, more silent, fleeting movements. A dozen pairs of eyes were now focused in on them, circling them like hungry predators, drawing in closer and closer.

 Finally, it was Raph who couldn’t take the tension anymore. He lunged forward when one of the creatures came close, driving his sai deep into its chest. He felt the familiar sensation of tearing through light metal, the sound of droid chatter calling out in alarm. Footbots? Well, that certainly made things easier, he thought. But the Footbot didn’t fall. It dashed away with a flash of silent movement, its chest sparking slightly from the damage it had incurred.

 “H-hey, Don? Ya don’t suppose Stockman might have improved on the Footbot’s design in the past fifteen years?” Raphael asked, unable to contain the nervousness in his voice. Donnie never got the chance to answer before the rest of the robots converged. The six teens scattered.

 It was all Donatello could do to keep two of the Footbots at bay, blocking their lightning-quick slashes with his bo staff. Raphael wasn’t kidding; these robots were definitely a lot stronger than the ones they’d faced in their own time, and a hell of a lot more resilient. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.

 Then, just as Donatello faltered, the Footbot’s blade aiming down to slash right through him, a rough green hand came down on the robot’s head. The robot was yanked backward into the darkness, its eyes flickering out as the sound of metal slicing through metal could be heard. The second Footbot that had been chasing Donnie looked back. It stood motionless for a second, frozen. Then, its torso slowly slid off the rest of its body, a clean diagonal cut splitting it in two.

 Donatello, confused and stunned, was not _so_ stunned that he hadn’t noticed what had been in the robot’s chest when its inner workings had been exposed by the mysterious attacker in the dark. An orange, triangular power core glowed faintly inside the chest cavity of the robot for a moment before the lower half finally fell. Donnie’s eyes widened. These robots were running on _Triceraton_ technology?! What was going on here?!

 The six teens stood there, staring out into the darkness as, one by one, the Footbots met their end at the hands of a silent shadow. The only sounds that reached them were the final desperate droid chatter as each was destroyed. Then, nothing. The turtles backed themselves into their tight circle once more, keeping their weapons at the ready, not knowing what might happen next, or if their new ‘friend’ was really a friend at all. After a few moments more, a tall figure approached, though it was so dark that they could only make out its silhouette. A head wrapped in cloth, broad shoulders, some sort of cloak covering everything from the neck down to the knees, and… Could that bulge on its back be a shell?

 “What are you kids doing here?” The voice was low and gruff, and the question was spoken in a tone of command. None of them could quite place the voice. It had the hint of familiarity to it, but they knew they’d never heard it quite like this. Slowly, Raphael lowered his sais, a smirk spreading across his face.

 “Got lost walkin’ home from school.” He replied sarcastically. The man didn’t seem amused.

 “I’m not here to play games, _boy_.” The last word was spat out with so much venom that it made Raphael flinch slightly. Then, his fire returning to him in a flash, he tightened his grip on his weapons.

 “Leo, is that you?! I swear to God, you’ll never let anyone else be leader for once, will you?!” he growled out at the shadowed figure, making a move to step towards him, as if to challenge him. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

 “Raph, I’m not sure that’s Leo…” April whispered in his ear, staring past him at the figure with searching eyes.

 “Who is it then?” Leonardo asked, trying not to sound hurt at the accusation. However, before she could answer, there was a distant sound of gunshots being fired, then the sickening screech that sounded like a thousand sawblades running at once. The shadowed figure turned away from the group, cursing under his breath as he seemed to bring something up to his mouth.

 “Colonel Hamato to Base; I need an evac, _now_. Six civilians, North side, use tracer Bravo.”

 There was a crackle of radio static before the order was answered with a quick “Roger that, Sir” by another male voice. Raphael gave another indignant growl.

 “Hey, we ain’t no civilians!”

 “Shut up, boy.” Was the immediate biting reply. Mikey leaned over to April even as Raphael fumed to himself.

 “Dude, you _sure_ that ain’t Leo?” he whispered. He could practically feel Leo’s blue eyes glaring at him through the dark at that comment.

 “I said, _shut up_. That goes for _all_ of you.” The Colonel barked out in a harsh whisper. “The Footbots are a hive-mind. Those twelve from before were just scouts. Now that they’ve gone offline, the Swarm will be coming for us.”

 Leonardo’s eyes widened at that. The Swarm? That certainly didn’t sound good. The image of a horde of zombies coming after them resurfaced in his mind, only this time they were fast, deadly, and precise robots. His eyes scanned the darkness around them, waiting for the first pair of glowing orange eyes to stare out at them, signaling the coming of the deadly wave. He could already hear the distant sawblades screeching, drawing closer.

 The orange lights didn’t come in a single pair, but hundreds of them at once. _Thousands_ of them. They gathered and surged in the distance like an ocean of deadly fireflies, and then they started heading right for them. The six teens each raised their weapons in preparation for a fight.

 “Don’t bother.” The Colonel whispered, never turning back to look at the lot of them in the dark. “They’ll tear us to bits in seconds. It’s pointless to try to fight this many.”

 Leonardo opened his mouth, preparing to demand to know what they should do about it, but a sudden roar of blades over his head cut him off. Not sawblades. A helicopter? A bright light then flooded the area, causing the six teens to snap their eyes shut from the sudden, unexpected transition from darkness to light. Leo willed his eyes to open, to look up at the figure that still stood before them with his back turned to them. The Colonel’s cloak was made of a light canvas, tattered at the edges but just long enough to cover him down to his knees. In his right hand he held a single kama. Leo gasped. There was no way… He quickly looked up, focusing on the tactical scarf wrapped around the older turtle’s head. It was a faded, dusty orange.

  _Orange?!_

 He had no time to dwell on the Colonel’s identity after that. The Swarm was nearly on them, the chorus of sawblades rising to a deafening pitch. Colonel Hamato didn’t retreat an inch, even as the first of the horde entered into the spotlit area. Leonardo took a step forward, as though wanting to shake the man to his senses and tell him to run. There was no need. The thunder of a machine gun rang out over the sawblades, a rain of empty shell casings falling down over their heads. The barrage ripped through the front lines of the Swarm, cutting them back and prompting a momentary retreat of the robots. In the midst of the chaos, a rope ladder was dropped down to them from the helicopter.

 “ _Go!”_ the Colonel ordered just loud enough to be heard over the cacophony. They didn’t have to be told twice. Leonardo ushered the other five up first, glancing back at the older turtle before heading up himself. As he reached the top and climbed in, he gave a passing glance at the gunner station by the door. To his surprise, the gunner was a woman, her fiery red hair pulled back into a low ponytail.

 “Get to your seats! We need to get out of here!” the woman barked out as forcefully as the Colonel had, leaving her station to pull up the rope ladder. Leo took a quick glance down out of the helicopter. Colonel Hamato held onto the ladder with one hand as it was pulled up, the Footbots converging over where he had been standing a moment ago, clamoring over each other and reaching their spindly claws up to try and snatch at his heels. Leonardo’s brow furrowed. Why didn’t he climb up like they had?

 The woman reached down and grasped the Colonel’s hand, helping him up into the helicopter, his cloak billowing from the backdraft of the helicopter’s spinning blades. Leonardo couldn’t help but stare for a moment, now understanding why he couldn’t climb the ladder. His left arm ended just above where his elbow should have been. Where they six had been struggling with two Footbots apiece, this man – this _turtle_ – had taken all twelve out with _one arm_.

 “Sergei! Get us out of here!” he shouted once inside, giving the sheet metal behind the helicopter’s pilot a quick bang with his fist. The pilot – a blonde man in a black officer’s uniform, from what Leo could see – nodded, and the helicopter banked sharply, rising up out of reach of the bloodthirsty horde down below.

 Now that they were relatively safe, the Colonel turned his attention to his six young guests. Their attention was already fully on him, each of their mouths hanging open in disbelief at what they saw. Well, all except for Mikey, whose eyes shone with that glitter of admiration once more.

 Colonel Hamato looked exactly as his wanted poster portrayed, right down to the scar to the left of his chin and that intense look in his baby blue eyes. One thing they hadn’t noticed in the poster, likely due to it being in black and white, were the series of faded freckles spread across his cheeks. There was no mistaking exactly who was sitting before them now, but none of them could make themselves believe it.

 “Who… Who _are_ you..?” Raphael asked hesitantly, his eyes wide in utter shock. He knew good and well who it was, but he needed to hear it from the man himself. They all did. The Colonel let out a sigh, giving in and indulging the ‘boy’ for the first time.

 “My name is Colonel Michelangelo Hamato. Now, I’m only going to ask this one more time; what in the _hell_ are you kids doing here?”


	2. The Professor

 It took a while for the six teens to come out of their daze long enough to answer Colonel Hamato’s questions. Finally, Donatello managed to give him an account of what had happened, such as it was. They honestly were still trying to figure out what had happened themselves. The Colonel listened quietly, almost patiently now that they were out of danger. He nodded once he heard the whole thing.

 “You came here from a rough time. My condolences…” he replied, his eyes seeming to glaze over at that last bit, as though he were trying not to remember the event himself. “But I’m afraid you caught us in a bad spot here as well. The Shredder’s cracking down on us hard, and resources are running thin. This little rescue mission was almost more than we could afford.”

 “Well, what can you do, Mike?” said the red-haired woman with a sigh. They’d since learned that she was Colonel Hamato’s second in command, Major O’Neil. April, it turned out, would grow up to be quite the pretty woman, if a bit hard around the edges. “We couldn’t very well leave the kids out there to get slaughtered by Shredder’s curfew patrol, could we?”

 “Wait, ‘curfew patrol?’” Leonardo repeated in disbelief, unsure what that was supposed to mean. The Colonel gave him a sardonic smile.

 “Of course. You break one of Shredder’s laws, you get executed on the spot. No disobedience goes unpunished, even one as simple as breaking curfew. You didn’t think those robots had hunted you down _specifically_ , did you? How would they even know you were here if you’d just popped in from the past? It was just by blind luck that I happened to be nearby myself.”

 Leo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That horde of robots, that deadly Swarm… Those were just to deal with the _civilians_ who stepped out of line? If that was so, he shuddered to think what the robots sent after the rebels were like.

 

* * *

 

 

 The helicopter soon came down to a rest inside what turned out to be a large hangar. The six teens disembarked after the two rebel leaders had, taking a look around as the vast area was lit up with overhead lights, the large doors in the ceiling moving closed above them as the helicopter blades wound down to a rest. This was apparently not the only helicopter they had. Leonardo counted at least one more that was still functional, though it looked to be in pretty rough shape. The one they’d flown in on looked as though it had taken a few hits itself. A fleet of ground vehicles lined the walls, though he doubted if half of them were working. None of them seemed to have made it back to this hangar without getting a few dents knocked into them at the very least, and many were worse off than that.

 Leonardo couldn’t help but notice the emblem that had been painted on all of the vehicles now that he had a chance to think about it. It was the flower of the Hamato Clan Crest painted in orange, a red star imposed in the center. He wondered what that was intended to symbolize.

 “Mommy!”

 Leo was pulled from his reverie when he heard the squeal of a child echo throughout the hangar. He looked up in time to see a young girl, hardly older than five, with bright blue eyes and raven black hair pulled back into pigtails sprinting towards them. He watched as Major O’Neil knelt down, catching the little girl in her arms and hugging her close. He immediately turned back to look at Donatello.

 His brother was staring at the scene with his mouth hanging open in what he was sure was horror, his left eye twitching slightly. Leo had the good sense not to let his amusement show through to his face, but it seemed someone else did not. Casey Jones flashed Donatello the single most satisfied smirk he’d ever seen, giving the lanky turtle a taunting “Ha ha!” Leo cringed a little, dreading the fight that was sure to result from this little revelation in their age-old feud, but Raphael and April were already working on dragging the two away from each other before an altercation could start itself. He breathed a sigh of relief before turning his attention back to the scene before them. The little girl was out of her mother’s grasp and was now standing in front of the Colonel in a crude attempt to stand at attention, her left hand raised to her forehead in an exaggerated salute.

 “Private Cassandra Jones, reporting in! I kept the base secure while you were away, just like ya asked, Uncle Mike! Er… I mean Colonel!... Sir!” she squeaked out, giving the large turtle a smile that revealed her two front teeth to be missing. The Colonel seemed to let out a good-natured chuckle at that, returning the salute with no attempt at correcting her improper one.

 “Good work, soldier. At this rate, you’ll be running this outfit by the time you’re fifteen.” He replied with a warm smile. Cassandra let out a whine at that.

 “Awww, but I’ll be so _oooold!_ ” she replied with a feigned pout. The Colonel merely ruffled her hair at that and sent her on her way.

 

* * *

 

 

 The teens were led farther into the base and into a large room that must have been the rebels’ command center. Men and women in dark green military uniforms stopped their work to salute the Colonel as he walked by. Michelangelo looked around the room in awe, his heart bounding as he realized that every single one of these people looked up to _him_. Well… _Future_ him. Semantics. Still, just the fact that, one day, he would be considered not only important enough to listen to, but important enough to follow into battle against impossible odds… It all seemed like a dream to him.

 Of course, this not being a dream, Mikey soon felt that something was missing here.

 “Hey, uhh… Big Mike! No, that doesn’t sound right… Future M? Nah, that’s no good either… Big Boss? No, that’s taken already…” he began, though he quickly derailed himself in the hunt for the perfect nickname for his badass future self. The Colonel let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head.

 “My rank will do. It’ll cut down on the confusion, and it’s what most people call me in any case.”

 “O-okay, Colonel… uh… Sir.” Mikey replied hesitantly, even standing a bit straighter as he gazed up at the imposing figure. “I was just wondering… Where are the others? Your bros, I mean. I don’t see any of them here. You’re all still fighting the Shredder, aren’t you?”

 There was a long silence, and the Colonel’s features seemed to harden, his head turning away as though he was unwilling to look the lot of them in the eyes.

 “I’m afraid I’m the only one of us still fighting… Well, myself and Major O’Neil, of course.” He corrected quickly, giving the woman to his left a small nod of his head. She seemed to bow her head solemnly at the acknowledgement.

 “ _What?!”_ Raphael exclaimed in disbelief. “What do you mean you’re the only ones?! Are the rest of us dead?! What the hell happened?!”

 “It’s… hard to explain…” the Colonel began with some difficulty. “After Master Splinter was killed, we all just sort of… Grew apart… Once the Earth was restored, we all went our separate ways for the most part. Leonardo couldn’t take the pressure of being leader anymore after everything that happened, and he swore off fighting altogether. I think Raphael resented that I took charge in his place and left out of spite. Neither of them will talk to me anymore. I don’t think they like the company I keep. Donnie… Well, he’s still here with me, but only physically. _Mentally_ is another issue entirely. As for Jones… I think it’s more the Major’s place to discuss him than it is mine.”

 The four turtles could do nothing but stare up at the Colonel in despair for a long moment. How could things have gotten so bad between them in fifteen years? Weren’t they brothers? Weren’t they supposed to stick together forever? They passed hopeless glances between one another. It was all just too much to take in. Leonardo shook his head, not willing to believe it.

 “But… But if you aren’t fighting together anymore, how have you all survived this long? We barely managed against Shredder before, and he’s way stronger now than he ever was!” It was the only question he had the heart to ask at the moment. He didn’t want any more bad news. He wanted to hear something good for a change.

 “We’ve managed to make some resourceful allies after everything went down. Ah, speak of the devil, actually…” the Colonel began, suddenly glancing over the heads of the six shorter teens, a small smile spreading across his lips. There was the sharp click of boots coming together at attention, a strong, somewhat familiar male voice addressing the Colonel directly from behind them.

 “Major Steranko reporting, sir!”

 All six teens immediately turned to face the new arrival. Major _Steranko?_ As in _Ivan_ Steranko? As in _Rocksteady?!_ There were no words to describe the absurdity of that! They half expected the mutant rhino to be standing there behind them, his hand raised in a stiff salute at what had once been a sworn enemy. What they saw instead was a man, blonde hair cropped short in a traditional military cut, clear blue eyes staring straight ahead. His uniform was black with embellishments of red and gold, his head topped by a crimson beret, a gold hammer and sickle embroidered on the front. Leonardo immediately recognized him as the pilot of the helicopter that had rescued them.

 “Duuude! Rocksteady totally got un-mutated!” Mikey shouted in amazement, pointing a finger at the man. The Russian Major seemed to roll his eyes at that, letting out a sigh as though to say ‘not again…’

 “Major _Sergei_ Steranko. Ivan Steranko is my father.” He corrected impatiently. The others just continued to stare. Of course, now that they thought about it, there were distinct differences. Sergei was younger than they’d ever seen his father, even before Shredder had mutated him. He seemed to be Colonel Hamato and Major O’Neil’s age, about thirty. Furthermore, his face wasn’t quite as hard as the elder Steranko’s had been. It was still strong and distinctly Russian, but just enough to give him a certain classic, chiseled handsomeness. Lastly, his English was flawless. He even had a very convincing American accent.

 “You’re working with the _Russians?!”_ Raphael roared, glaring back towards the Colonel, who merely rolled his eyes as Sergei had done a moment ago.

 “This isn’t the Cold War, Raph. God, you sound just like _him_ when you say that… Steranko had been Russia’s inside man in Shredder’s organization. He’s not nearly as stupid as he led everyone to believe, by the way. He’d been carefully gathering intel and reporting it back to his people for _years_ before he had ever been mutated. Once Shredder started getting wise to his game, he pulled out and joined up with us. Enemy of my enemy, and all that. Besides, how do you think we got all of this equipment? You don’t think helicopter gunships just fall out of the sky every day, do you?”

 Leonardo thought he was beginning to understand now. At least that explained the red star he’d seen in the middle of the Hamato Crest. Suddenly, he felt someone shove his shoulder to the side. Casey Jones was pushing through to the head of the group, staring up at the Colonel with purpose in his eyes.

 “Look, I don’t give a crap about some old American-Soviet rivalry! I flunked that part of history class anyway! What I wanna know is what happened to _me!_ ”

 The Colonel exchanged a quick glance with Major O’Neil, who eventually let out a heavy sigh.

 “Come with me…”

 

* * *

 

 

 The Major led the group of teens down a hall towards the barracks on her own. The Colonel had stayed behind to discuss something with Sergei, apparently. She opened a door towards the end of the hall and immediately felt a pair of tiny arms clamp around her legs.

 “Not now, Cassandra…” she said softly to the little girl, ushering her back into the room with a gentle hand at her back. She waved the rest of them in, and the six teens filed in after her. For what were supposedly officer’s quarters, the room was pretty small. Two bunk beds of steel rods and green canvas were lined up against the wall, a door leading to an adjoining bathroom visible just past them. Aside from that, the room was practically barren of everything but the essentials. Very Spartan.

 She directed their attention to a small dresser sitting alone against the far wall. A black-framed picture of a rather handsome man in his mid-twenties sat atop it, his raven hair falling loosely down to his shoulders, a half-cocked smirk on his face. A hockey mask that looked as though it was made of steel lay to one side of the picture, a bundle of long-dead and dusty flowers lying to the other side. Casey Jones stared down at the humble altar, his shoulders wilting.

 “Y’mean… I’m _dead?_ ” he asked feebly, looking up at O’Neil as though hoping she’d tell him it was only a joke. She didn’t, instead hanging her head slightly.

 “Five years ago... It was in one of Shredder’s bombing sweeps. Mike tried to save you, but he couldn’t get you back in time. That’s also when he lost his arm…”

 Casey looked back down at the photo of his future self. He could almost picture the scene; the city burning as bombs dropped from the sky, Michelangelo, his left arm a mangled mess, desperately trying to carry Casey’s body back to safety. He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that… He then looked back at Cassandra, who had taken a seat on one of the lower bunks and was swinging her legs back and forth without a care in the world. His brows furrowed. Five years… Had she been old enough then to even remember him?

 Donatello turned his attention to April. She was staring down at the photo as well, though her head was tilted slightly, as though considering something. Then, she quirked an eyebrow, jutting out her bottom lip as though saying ‘okay, _maybe_ …’ Donatello’s eyes narrowed instantly. Was she checking him out?!

 “Daddy!” came the sudden squeal as the door opened behind them. Wait, what? They all turned in astonishment, having been under the impression that the girl’s father was dead. They watched as Cassandra hopped off the edge of her bunk, running to the door and wrapping her arms around a black trouser leg. A deep chuckle rose from the man’s throat.

 “Ah, there’s my little Lapochka!” Sergei said warmly as he hoisted the girl up into his arms, addressing her fondly with some Russian term of endearment. All four turtles immediately looked back at Casey, who, quite understandably, was staring at the blonde man with a look of complete aghast horror on his face.

 “Woah, woah, woah, hold up a sec! I’m sorry, _what?!”_ he shouted out in disbelief, his voice cracking slightly in an undignified adolescent way. Major O’Neil let out a sigh, covering her eyes with one hand.

 “Look, it’s a long story…” she mumbled, clearly not interested in getting into it right then and there.

 Ah, but now the tables had turned, hadn’t they? Donatello now looked over to Casey with a smug look of satisfaction on his face, grinning in all his gap-toothed glory. He folded his arms across his chest, returning the boy’s earlier “ _Ha ha!_ ” but with a bit more spite behind it. His feeling of triumph quickly faded, however, as he looked over to April and saw the same look of horror on her face.

 “Wait, you and _him?_ Are you, like… _Together?!_ ” she asked, her voice going a bit shrill as her pitch rose in horrified disbelief. Mikey then let out an amused laugh.

 “Dude! That would totally make Rocksteady your father-in-law!” he managed to blurt out between his raucous laughter, pointing out exactly the thought that had struck her so distastefully. April’s body shuddered in disgust, and it looked as though she wanted to puke. Major O’Neil shook her head. This was exactly what she had been wanting to avoid.

 “No, we’re not married. It’s not what you think. Casey and Sergei were good friends, and after Casey died… Look, can we not talk about this right now? I’m sure there are more important things to discuss than my personal life…”

 And Casey seemed to agree. He still looked straight at Sergei –glared at him, really – holding his chin up and puffing out his chest as though to make himself look bigger than this new rival of his. It was a wasted effort, as the teen barely came up to the man’s broad shoulders even if he stood on his toes.

 “Yeah, I got sumthin’ ta talk about! Let’s talk about _Don!_ ” he announced forcefully, his eyes never leaving the imposing Russian figure before him. He may not have been able to get even with this big meat-head, but there was still another rival he could strike out at.

 “Huh? What about Don?” Donatello mumbled in confusion, pulling himself out of his little private giggling fit. His eyes searched the room absentmindedly for a moment before it clicked into place. “Oh right! Me! Mic—I mean, Colonel Hamato had said that I was still here with him. Well, my future self anyway.”

 “Yeah, but he was talkin’ like your mind had checked out or sumthin’.” Raphael interjected, rather more interested in this new subject than the one they had been on previously. Donatello’s brow furrowed.

 “You’re right…” he mumbled, his voice wavering with a slight note of concern. He then looked up to the Major. “Major O’Neil, where am I exactly? The other Donatello, I mean. I’m not in a coma or something, am I?”

 Major O’Neil’s expression softened slightly at that, her eyes growing sorrowful once more.

 “No, you’re not in a coma, but…” She paused, letting out a sigh. “I’ll have Mike take you to him. I think it’s something you should see for yourself…”

 

* * *

 

 

 A while later, the six teens found themselves being led to another portion of the base, this time by Colonel Hamato alone. Casey was still pouting towards the back of the group, occasionally shooting Donatello a look as though he planned to get revenge on him with whatever it was they were being taken to see. Donnie wasn’t paying him any mind, instead quite eager to find out for himself what would become of him in the future.

 They came to a stop in front of a heavy metal door. The Colonel moved to one side, punching in a code on the access panel mounted in the wall. There was the sound of massive locking mechanisms moving behind the walls. Donatello’s eyes widened a bit, and he swallowed the lump that had started to gather in his throat.

 “Y-you keep me locked up?!” he asked, truly shocked by the security measures he saw here. Was this all just for _him?!_ The Colonel shook his head.

 “It’s not to keep you inside, I can assure you. I could leave every door in this base wide open and Don would still remain right where he is. No, this is all to keep others out, to keep you _safe_.”

 The door opened, and a long hallway of pure white spread out before them. At least, it looked as though it had once been pure white. All over the walls, the ceiling, and the floor were rows after rows after rows of endless equations written in black marker and stretching out for what seemed like eternity. Donatello couldn’t stop his mouth from hanging agape in amazement. He’d never seen anything like this before in his life.

 They started down the hallway, their footsteps echoing off the walls and breaking the utter silence around them. Donatello craned his neck this way and that as they walked, trying to absorb as many pieces of the massive equation as he could. Some he recognized, some he didn’t, some even looked like complete nonsense. He just wanted to know what it all meant, how it all fit together. To have figured all this out and written it all down like this… He must have been at it for _years!_

 Finally, the hallway came to an end. They stood before a single square room, the door having been removed for whatever reason so they had a clear view of the interior. The equations continued in here, though they were more compactly spaced and some even seemed to overlap one another. There was a bed to one side of the room, a small night stand to the other. Both had been covered in the same scribbles as on the walls. There towards the back of the room, kneeling in front of the back wall, a dusty lab coat covering his tall, thin body, his hand scribbling madly as he mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath, was Donatello.

 “Professor, you have visitors.” The Colonel called out softly, taking a step into the room. Donnie, still staring in complete astonishment from the door at his future self, shook his head slowly. This couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be him. None of this felt right! He only vaguely felt the hand on his shoulder as Leonardo peeked into the room around him.

 “’Professor?’” the oldest of the brothers repeated dubiously, eyeing the back of that dust-covered lab coat with suspicion.

 “He likes it when we call him that. We don’t see any harm in indulging him.” The Colonel replied, stepping over to the night stand. He stared down at the plate of cold, untouched food that had been left there. He sighed, carefully picking up the pair of thick-rimmed glasses that lay next to the plate.

 “Professor, I know the rations taste like crap, but you’ve got to eat. The medics say you’ve lost too much weight again. You don’t want to end up in the medical wing, do you?” he pleaded softly, doing his best to place the glasses on his brother’s face with the one hand he had left. They sat haphazardly on the Professor’s face, but he hadn’t seemed to notice that they’d been put there at all, or that he’d even been addressed. He just continued mumbling to himself, continued scribbling his equations.

 “Damn that Schrödinger… Wish he would just let that cat out of the box already… Need it to pick a state and be done with it…”

 Donatello just barely overheard that bit, but his eyes widened in fresh understanding. He looked around himself once more, at the equations.

 “H-he’s… He’s trying to find a way around Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principal!” he shouted suddenly, looking back to the Professor with renewed horror in his eyes. “B-but that’s _impossible!_ You _can’t_ know the exact location of a single electron at any given point, you can only map their positions _statistically!_ It’s a fundamental rule of physics! Why would he spend so long trying to work out such an unsolvable problem?! It’s completely insai—“

 He stopped himself there, unable to finish that last word. It occurred to him just then how much like a padded cell this room looked to him. The Colonel sighed, placing his rough, scarred hand gently on the Professor’s pale green head.

 “He’s been like this since Jones died. He just couldn’t take it anymore, I guess. He buried himself in his equations and hasn’t come back since… But even if his mind’s completely gone, I would fight to the death to keep him safe here. He’s… He’s all I have left…”

 And the six of them could say nothing. Not even Casey – who had been so eager to rub something, _anything_ in Donatello’s face – dared to laugh at what had become of the poor mad turtle…


	3. The Brotherhood of Serenity

 The Colonel didn’t let them linger long in the Professor’s room. He led them out in silence, letting each trail at their own pace. Donatello followed behind blindly, more or less in a daze. He just couldn’t believe it. To think, he, out of all of them, _he_ was destined to go completely out of his mind. Never in a million years did he think it would end like that, locked away in a bare white cell for his own protection, pouring over equations that any sane scientist would know to be a wasted effort. Neither had he imagined how sad a sight that would be…

 “Hey, Donnie? Do ya think Mr. Psycho-crazy-bonkers back there can work out the Heinz-n-burgers thingie?” came Michelangelo’s voice from somewhere behind him. Donatello’s eyes narrowed, his annoyance factor jumping up to eleven at that little remark. Truthfully, he knew his baby brother hadn’t said it quite that way out of spite, it was just how his mind worked, but he was in no mood to make excuses for the younger turtle in his head.

 “It’s ‘Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principal,’ and _no._ ” he practically hissed through gritted teeth, never bothering to look back at the other. “You can’t map electrons’ exact location with any kind of accuracy, you can only guess. That’s why the teleporters that they have on Star Trek wouldn’t really work. Besides, I haven’t the faintest idea _why_ he’d want to bypass the Uncertainty Principal. What’s the practical application in a situation like this? What could he possibly _do_ with it?”

 “The _Triceratons_ have teleporters.” Mikey pointed out, a rather pleased-with-himself smile spreading across his face. His smile faded when the comment seemed to go through one ear and out the other, Donatello ending the conversation with a dismissive wave of his hand. The shorter turtle let out a small huff, his posture slumping as he stared down at some small object he’d been playing with in his hands.

 “Man, no one _ever_ listens to me…”

 “Mikey? Whaddaya got there?”

 Mikey let out a tiny squeak, hiding the object behind his back as he turned around to face Raphael’s suspicious glare.

 “N-nothing!” he lied blatantly, knowing all too well that his elder brother had already seen what it was. Raph narrowed his eyes down at him.

 “Is that a _marker?_ Did you mess with the Professor’s equations before we left back there?!” he scolded in a harsh whisper, not wanting the Colonel to overhear him just yet. The rebel leader seemed to be extremely protective of his mind-addled brother, and he didn’t think the man would be terribly appreciative to know that some punk kid had waltzed in and messed with his work, useless though it may be. Mikey shook his head vigorously at the accusation.

 “N-no way, bro! N-not even a _little!_ I _swear!_ ” he retorted defensively, though Raph seemed to see right through him. Suddenly, Michelangelo broke out into a run, aiming to sprint across the command center to get away from what was sure to be an angry Raphael chasing him. Maybe he’d even run past the Colonel and put him in between the two of them? Yeah, that sounded like a good plan!

 Unfortunately, it was _far_ from a good plan. The instant Michelangelo went to pass by his future self, he suddenly felt himself freeze into place, as though his entire body had been paralyzed. He remained like that for several long seconds, unable to move a muscle, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. All he could feel was the lightest of pressures on his left shoulder, though he couldn’t even turn his head to see what was causing it.

 Raphael skidded to a stop in his impulsive chase as soon as it happened, his eyes wide. Colonel Hamato was glaring over his shoulder back at him, a single finger pressed down against the left shoulder of his younger counterpart, the mere touch seeming to freeze the boy dead.

 “This is a military base, not a playground. Start acting like it or I’ll throw you out to the Swarm.” He stated calmly, though the very real tone of intent in his voice sent a chill up Raphael’s shell. As if to put emphasis on the fact that he could make good on his promise, he increased the pressure on Mikey’s shoulder ever so slightly. The younger turtle immediately fell to his hands and knees as though the pressure had been that of a ton of bricks. Raph could only stare in amazement, and perhaps a bit of fear. He’d only ever seen Master Splinter do that.

 Satisfied that he’d gotten the point across, he released his hold on the boy, such as it was. Michelangelo collapsed, drawing in a deep gasp of air as though he had been held underwater that entire time. The Colonel then continued forward as if nothing noteworthy had occurred there. Mikey scrambled back up to his feet, but rather than look dejected at the entire incident, he had that sparkle of admiration in his eyes once again.

 “ _Dude!_ You _so_ gotta teach me how ta do that, bruh!”

 “I don’t have time to play games, boy. I have more important things to worry about.” He replied dismissively, heading over to a large table in the middle of the command center. Major O’Neil and Sergei were already there waiting for him, and the six teens soon clamored around the table, hoping to get in on the action. There was a massive map of New York City spread out on the table’s surface, countless different lines, circles, arrows, and other indecipherable indicators littered across its surface. Leonardo looked up at the adult turtle.

 “What’s going on? Is it bad?”

 “It’s _always_ bad.” The Colonel retorted a little impatiently. “The problem is we don’t have the resources to continue fighting as we are. At this rate, the Shredder’s forces are going to chip us down to nothing in a matter of weeks.”

 “So, what are you gonna do about it?” Raphael asked curiously. The Colonel let out a sigh.

 “The only thing we can do; pool every last resource we have and throw it all into one last blitz on his stronghold…”

 “You don’t sound too confident about that…” April commented with a raised eyebrow.

 “Truth be told, I’m _not_. Even with all we have left, all the soldiers and all the weapons, even throwing Steranko’s forces in, there’s virtually no chance of success that I can see. It’s a suicide mission any way you cut it.”

 “Then why bother at all?” Casey interjected with a disinterested shrug of his shoulders. That earned him a fierce glare from Colonel Hamato.

 “What else would you have me do?! Just sit here and watch my men die, day in and day out?!” he roared, his fury suddenly overcoming the tight emotional control he’d had to build up over the years. “You think I _enjoy_ this?! You think I’m _playing games_ here?! I don’t like the situation one bit, but it’s all I have left! At least _this_ way we can die on our own terms rather than waiting for death to come knocking at our door!”

 It took a long moment, but the Colonel slowly cooled down to a level approaching his earlier calm. Donatello cast a glance over at Major O’Neil. She was staring hard at their fuming leader, almost seemed to be concentrating intently on him. Then, he understood in a flash what she was doing; she was using her telepathic abilities to calm him, to get him back under control. Donnie’s brows furrowed. Could it be that the Colonel was just as mad as the Professor? Could Major O’Neil and her powers be the only thing left holding his mind together in all this?

 “Does it have to be so hopeless?” Leonardo asked suddenly. “This last strike… Does it have to be a guaranteed failure? What if we found some way to tip the scales more in our favor?”

 “Like what?” The Colonel replied blandly. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a spare _army_ hiding in your shell…”

 “I was thinking about your _brothers_. The future Leonardo and Raphael. Won’t they help?”

 “I already told you, they refuse to have anything to do with me anymore…” he replied through gritted teeth, his control straining again already. Leo pushed further, despite the danger of another explosion of anger.

 “But you can still _try_ to get them on board, can’t you? Surely if you ask—“

 “You think I haven’t tried all I can already?!” he barked out harshly, snapping once more. “Do you even understand what you’re _asking?!_ Those two hate my guts, possibly even worse than they hate Shredder himself! They blame _me_ for all this! _Me!_ And for what?! For having the _gall_ to continue fighting even as those two _fucking_ _cowards_ run away from the world with their tails tucked between their legs!”

 The Major had to physically put her hand on his shoulder to get him to calm down this time.

 “Easy, Mike… Look, maybe the kid is right – don’t give me that look, hear me out first. Maybe there’s a slim chance we can get your brothers on our side. I know you’ve already tried everything you can do by yourself, but we have a new asset on our side this time.”

 The Colonel looked down at the red-headed woman with an expression of genuine confusion.

 “’New asset?’ What are you talking about?”

 She merely gestured at the six teenagers standing across the table from her. The Colonel looked shocked.

“ _Them?!_ What can _they_ do that I can’t?!”

 “They can _be_ who they _are_. Think about it, Mike. Let your brothers be asked to join us by _they themselves_. Their past selves, in any case. They may have too big a chip on their shoulders to listen to you, but maybe they’ll listen to themselves.”

 The Colonel stared at the six before him – particularly Raph and Leo – for a long while. Donatello thought he saw Major O’Neil give his shoulder a gentle squeeze before Colonel Hamato finally let out a sigh of defeat.

 “Alright, I’ll organize a proper plan for it in the morning. For now… I think we could all use some rest.”

 And with that, they were dismissed. Donatello couldn’t help but stare after the Colonel as he left the room, his eyes darting to Major O’Neil occasionally. The older turtle’s earlier demonstration on Michelangelo had certainly been impressive, but he had never seen anyone do _that_ with a touch to the shoulder, not even their Sensei.

 

* * *

 

 

 Morning, as was typical for a military base, came before the dawn. Sergei had come into their newly assigned room while the sky was still pitch black outside, ordering the six teenagers awake with unrestrained impatience and even a few Russian expletives tossed about for good measure. They were soon filing out into the command center once more, each of them still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. Colonel Hamato was already out there, already pouring over his maps, though they were of a wider area than just New York City this time, encompassing parts of the nearby states of Pennsylvania and New Jersey. He didn’t look as though he’d gotten much rest. Leonardo was seriously starting to wonder if his baby brother’s future self ever slept at all anymore.

 “So, do we have a plan yet?” he asked once they approached the table. The Colonel nodded, never looking up from the maps.

 “Of course we do. This sort of thing isn’t rocket science, though we’ll be relying on a bit more luck than I’d normally be comfortable with. We’ve just got to pray those two stubborn bastards are in the mood to talk...” He replied, mumbling that last bit under his breath with plenty of bitterness to spare. He then began indicating points on the map as he explained.

 “I’m going to have you split up into two groups and head out simultaneously. I can’t afford to waste time this close to the final strike. Major O’Neil, I want you to take Raphael, Donatello, and Jones and head over to Newark. The last reports from the scouts still have Raph in that location.” The Colonel replied, addressing Major O’Neil more than the others. Of course, that didn’t stop the other members of that group from responding rather strongly to the idea.

 “He went to _New Jersey?!_ ” Donatello exclaimed, slapping a hand over his mouth as he retched at the idea.

 “Even worse, it’s _Newark!_ I can smell that place bad enough as it is on _this_ side of the bridge! I don’t wanna have to actually _go_ there!” Raphael protested just as strongly, his skin crawling at the mere thought. The Colonel gave them a bit of a sneer, but it seemed to be aimed more at the location itself than their aversion to it.

 “Hate to do it to you, but that’s where he’s at. You boys are just going to have to grow a pair and get it over with. As for the rest of you…” he moved to an area of the map more to the west, into Pennsylvania. “I’m afraid you’ve got a longer trip ahead of you. Leo’s group is holed up in the mountains just north of Allentown. They’ve apparently taken over an abandoned mine of some sort and set up shop in there. Major Steranko will take Leonardo, Michelangelo, and April there.”

 “ _What?!_ ” came another protest, this time from Casey. “Why does April have to go with this stupid son of a rhino?! Why can’t she come with us?!”

 The Colonel shot Casey a sudden icy glare that made the other five take a step away from the human teen, as though not wanting to end up collateral damage.

 “Because those are your orders. It makes no sense to unbalance the teams and send both telepaths to the same location. I’d like to use that particular asset to its fullest. Besides, Sergei happens to be one of my best men. I trust him with my life and I expect you kids to do the same.” He replied before narrowing his eyes a bit more at the boy, his tone growing lower and more dangerous. “Or are you going to become a problem for me? I’ll only warn you once, Mr. Jones… I don’t tolerate _problems_.”

 Casey went rigid at that, eyes widening slightly as he attempted to swallow the lump that had just appeared in his throat.

 “N-no, sir… N-no problems here…” he muttered, mostly under his breath. The Colonel, satisfied with that answer, returned to his maps. The instant he looked away from him, however, Casey’s attitude returned in a flash. He gave Sergei a sneer, making a quick gesture with two fingers from his eyes to those of the Russian Major as if to say ‘I’m watching you.’ Sergei’s response was simply to roll his eyes and shake his head slowly at the boy’s utter ridiculousness.

 

* * *

 

 

 They had to wait until the sun finally peeked out over the horizon before it was safe to leave the base. A single engine roared across the deserted interstate, the sound echoing into the eerily silent distance as it cut through the thick fog. Sergei rode an old black motorcycle that looked as though it had probably been in his father’s collection since the early days of the Cold War, blowing past speed limit signs with satisfying abandon. After all, what police were left to ticket him for speeding? Leo and Mikey were cloistered together in a side car, the weight and balance of which served as the only limiting factor for how fast the Russian was willing to push the vehicle. April sat just behind the man, her arms wrapped around his waist to keep from falling off. She had a look on her face like she had chosen that spot just to spite Casey and his childish jealousy.

 They were on the road perhaps forty minutes before they passed through New Jersey and into Pennsylvania, yet in all that time they hadn’t seen a single running vehicle other than their own. The towns they passed all looked abandoned. In fact, the only real sign of life any of them saw on that entire trip were the huge herds of deer that they occasionally caught running across the derelict highway. Colonel Hamato had told them that Shredder had more or less ground the entire Northeastern region to a halt in recent years, but they hadn’t quite believed that until they’d seen all this.

 They eventually turned off the highway and onto a local roadway through a few small towns. There wasn’t quite the destruction that they’d seen in New York, it felt more like people had just dropped what they were doing and left while they could. The street was filled with debris, mostly fallen branches and oceans of dead brown leaves. The early December air left a glistening layer of frost over everything, and the cold wind bit at their faces as it rushed by. They were only lucky that the snow hadn’t come just yet.

 The local road soon turned into a dirt track that quickly began sloping upward into the mountains, and soon they were left with hardly any trail to follow at all. They headed straight up through the rough brush and tall pines before finally coming to a stop near a cave opening.

 “Finally! I thought my face was going to freeze off if we kept going!” Mikey whined as he flopped ungracefully out of the side car, rubbing vigorously at his face with his hands.

 “You were offered a scarf. It’s your own fault you didn’t take it.” Sergei replied unsympathetically, cutting the bike’s engine and letting April get off first before he followed. She let out a small grunt of discomfort, trying to stretch the stiffness out of her legs.

 “Ughh… I think I’m gonna be numb for a _year_ … Why do people consider motorcycles so cool if they’re so uncomfortable to ride?”

 “It’s an old military bike. They weren’t built for comfort, they were built to get the job done.” He said, directing the three teens to follow him forward. He then headed towards the mouth of the cave, the others close at his heels. Leonardo looked up at the titan of stone that was the mountain, still utterly confused as to why his future self would come all the way out to a place like this.

 “Sergei, what _is_ this place?” he asked finally.

 “This is the sanctuary of the Brotherhood of Serenity.”

 “The who of what now?” Mikey asked, his face going blank with confusion.

 “The Brotherhood of Serenity. They’re an order of monks who preach non-violence and other such nonsense. Of course, their ‘noble’ cause doesn’t stop them all from practicing martial arts and carrying swords around. I’ve got no idea what possessed Leonardo to join up with this bunch of freaks… No offense, of course.”

 By the time they reached the cave opening, a figure covered from head to toe in a thick blue robe was already there waiting for them, a sheathed pair of katana clearly visible at their waist. Unbecoming as the robe may have been, the three shivering teens found themselves a tad jealous of the unidentifiable individual contained within. It looked warm, at the very least. The figure held up a thin hand to halt their advance.

 “Why have you outsiders come to our sanctuary?” came a beautiful female contralto from under the shadow of her hood, sparking a moment of slight shock from the four intruders. That bulky robe hadn’t betrayed any hint that it was a _woman_ that greeted them.

 “We’ve come to talk to Leonardo. Is he here?” Leo asked, feeling a bit odd to be asking after himself. The woman gave a short scoff.

 “All Brothers and Sisters are given new names upon entering our order. You will have to be more specific.”

 “Dude, he’s, like, a giant mutant turtle. Ya can’t exactly miss the guy.” Mikey replied snarkily, at which point Sergei raised a peremptory hand to halt any further comment from the teens.

 “Let me speak from now on. I’d like to see if I can do something before we fall back on using you three.” Then, to the woman. “We’d like to talk to your Master if we can, Sister. Our situation is urgent and we haven’t much time.”

 The robed woman seemed to consider them for a moment, as if gauging their honesty. Then, she bowed slightly in relinquishment, holding a delicate hand out to indicate a large rectangular depression in the rock next to the cave entrance.

 “You must leave your weapons before entering. There is no bloodshed permitted within these sacred walls.”

 Leo, Mikey, and April, a bit unsure about leaving their weapons and entering a strange place, glanced up at Sergei as if to ask what they should do. He seemed to be glaring at the woman, glancing with contempt down at her two katana. Then, reluctantly, he gave them a short nod. April stepped forward, placing her tessen in the depression with some reluctance. Mikey followed suit with his nunchaku and shuriken, then Leo with his dual katana. Sergei, the most hesitant of all, took a bit longer to disarm himself. He first removed the two revolvers from their holsters on his hips with a slight flourish, then came the hunting knife from his belt, a second and third knife from inside each tall boot leg, a small Derringer that was hidden under his shirt, and, finally, a Swiss Army knife from his pocket. Mikey gave a long whistle.

 “ _Damn_ , dude. You think you got enough there?”

 Sergei had started to turn to retort the young turtle’s comment when a hand shot out with surprising swiftness to grasp his wrist firmly. The Sister lifted his arm up, her alabaster fingers gliding gracefully over his sleeve and pulling it back to reveal a heavy steel bracer strapped to his forearm. He could practically feel her eyes narrowing up at him from where they lay concealed under that blue hood. He returned the supposed look in kind.

 “You have already taken away my offensive capabilities. Would you begrudge me my _defensive_ ones, even as you lot walk around with those swords at your hip?” he challenged, indicating her weapons with a small nod of his head. She considered for a moment, then released her grip on his wrist.

 “Very well. You may follow me.”

 The four were led into the cave and into nearly complete darkness. The winding passageway ahead was lit dimly by a procession of candles mounted on the rough stone walls. April jogged a bit to catch up with Sergei’s long strides, looking up at him with a quirked eyebrow.

 “What are the bracers for? I thought these monks were supposed to be peaceful.”

 “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared for anything, especially given their leader’s feelings towards our cause.” He replied in a low tone, not too keen on getting their escort in on the conversation. Then, a smirk formed on the red-head’s lips.

 “Y’know, as a Steranko, I’m surprised you settled for plain old steel. I’d have figured it would have to be gold with your family, knowing your father.”

 “Gold is too soft a metal for such things. Besides, who said they were just ‘plain old steel?’” He retorted evenly, letting a small quirk of amusement tug at the corner of his mouth. He then pulled back his sleeve a bit, giving her a closer look at the bracer hidden underneath. She could now see the countless intricate bands of dark and light hues swirling beautifully over the surface of the armor plate. “ _Damascus_ steel. My family may have expensive tastes, true, and this is no different. Except Damascus steel is prized for its impeccable quality and strength rather than strictly monetary value.”

 Their conversation ended just as the cave tunnel opened up into a vast cavern. The three teens couldn’t help but look around in awe. Where the passage there had looked like raw and untouched rock, this area almost seemed to be made of polished slate. The floor had been smoothed to perfection, the intricate design of a half-opened lotus blossom carved into it within a circle. Just beyond the circle was a huge stone staircase leading up to a heavy wooden door, a huge blue torii gate indicating that it was the entrance to the temple proper. The Sister came to a halt before these great steps.

 “Brother Zatoichi, a man and three youths have come here in search of a turtle by the name of ‘Leonardo.’” She announced in a voice barely above a normal speaking tone. They didn’t see how anyone could have heard her from all the way up there and through that heavy door, but apparently someone did. The door opened, and another robe-shrouded figure emerged.

 “So, the Warmongers have returned after all these years, have they?” came a soft but raspy male voice from under the new figure’s hood. The monk descended the stairs without haste, a sheathed katana swinging lightly at each hip. Mikey opened his mouth to say something, but Leo immediately covered it with one of his hands, remembering what Sergei had said about leaving it up to him for now.

 “We’ve come for Leonardo. Or can he not be spared from your oh-so-important work?” Sergei asked, just a tad too much condescension in his voice for the head monk’s liking.

 “Leonardo no longer exists. How many times must I explain to you? Go back to your Colonel and inform him that he has wasted his precious time yet again by having you come here.” Brother Zatoichi replied without an ounce of malice in his even voice. That clearly wasn’t a satisfactory answer.

 “We need him. The Shredder is too strong for us to survive much longer as it is. If he doesn’t come back, then Colonel and Professor Hamato – his _brothers_ – will soon be dead, along with countless others.”

 “Perhaps he should have thought of that _before_ he started this war of his.”

 “Have you become blind even to the past? It was _Shredder_ who started this war against Hamato Yoshi more than thirty years ago, and the Colonel carries on the fight in his Master’s memory.”

 “More fighting, more death is _never_ the answer. One must be willing to put aside these petty squabbles if peace is ever to be achieved.”

 “That’s easy to say for a _coward_ who runs and hides away from the world’s problems.”

 Sergei managed to raise his arm just in time to keep the blade of a katana from slicing his head open, the steel of the sword ringing against the Damascus bracer guarding his wrist.

 “You will leave, Warmonger. _Now_.” Zatoichi warned, not yet withdrawing his blade from where it had come to a stop against the Major’s arm. Sergei glared stubbornly at the robed man.

 “I will leave either with Leonardo in tow or with myself in a body bag. The choice is yours, _monk_.”

 What followed next was the most elegant dance of blades that Leo had ever seen in his life, a scene he couldn’t help but marvel at even as he continued to hold his struggling baby brother captive in his arms to keep him from speaking. There was a flash of steel as Brother Zatoichi drew his second katana and advanced forward on the attack with surprising force. His lightning quick slashes had no beginning or end, they merely flowed into one another like water. Sergei was immediately set on the defensive, taking what almost looked like a boxing stance as he bobbed and weaved to miss getting struck by the blades by a hair’s breadth, his fists raised to keep his armor-plated arms at the ready. He managed to weave around to the monk’s back, taking the opportunity to go onto the offensive by aiming a high roundhouse kick at his opponent’s head. Zatoichi whirled around immediately, bringing up one of his katana up to meet the Russian’s shin in midair with full force. Both Leo and April had to snap their eyes shut, not wanting to witness someone getting half their leg cut off. They expected to hear a cry of pain. What they heard instead was the familiar clang of steel on steel.

 When they opened their eyes again they saw Zatoichi’s blade still crossed with Sergei’s raised leg, though not an ounce of blood had been spilled. The Major pulled back just in time to avoid getting his stomach slashed open as the monk’s other blade swung around towards him. April couldn’t help but let her eyes wander down to Sergei’s leg to make sure he was okay, and what she saw surprised her a bit. A sizable gash had been made in the leather of his boot leg where the two had clashed, a glint of metal peeking through in the dim cavern lighting. He’d worn bracers on his legs as well.

 Sergei was soon on the defensive once more, raising both arms to each side of his head to block the blades converging on him from either side with a resounding ‘clang.’ One of the blades withdrew, was spun to be held backwards in the monk’s grasp, and the Major felt the pommel of a katana’s hilt drive painfully into his gut before he had time to react. He gasped breathlessly as the wind was knocked out of him, doubling over and clutching at his abdomen with both arms as he took a staggering step backwards. He wasn’t given a chance to recover, as his opponent quickly brought a knee up to slam into his face with a sickening crack.

 Sergei was sent flying backward, landing on his back with a dull ‘thud’ just a few feet away. He tried to will his body to move, tried to ignore the blood streaming from his surely broken nose as he watched the monk approach him, but he couldn’t move in time. Brother Zatoichi was already standing over him, both katana raised above his head in preparation for the final strike. The blow came thundering down just as Michelangelo managed to finally worm his way out of his brother’s grasp enough to free his mouth.

 “ _Leo!!_ ”

 Sergei flinched as the monk’s katana froze dead in the air just an inch before making contact with his face. He could do nothing but stare past the blades, up into the shadowy abyss within Brother Zatoichi’s hood, trying to gauge the expression of a face he couldn’t see. He could hear the two young turtles scuffling with each other off to the side.

 “Mikey, stop! He said he wanted us to let him try first!” came Leonardo’s harsh whisper.

 “No, dude! You don’t get it! I’ve been tryin’ ta tell ya all along! It’s _you!_ ”

 Brother Zatoichi almost seemed frozen in time as he stood over the Russian soldier, not a single muscle twitching. Then, his voice came so softly that Sergei wondered for a moment if he hadn’t mistaken the wind for human speech.

 “What are these specters’ voices you bring me, Warmonger?”

 “They’re no specters.” Sergei replied in as dignified a voice as he could manage with a freshly broken nose. “They’re flesh and blood, and they’re here from fifteen years in the past.”

 “Is this true, child?” Zatoichi called out, never looking away from his pinned opponent. Leo froze, somehow feeling that he was the one being addressed out of the three of them.

 “Y-yes, sir. All four of us have come to this timeline, and Casey and April too. It’s a long story… But we’re trying to help with the situation here before we can focus on finding a way home. Colonel Hamato is fighting the Shredder with his rebels, but he needs help.” Leonardo explained, pausing a moment before asking the one question that was burning in his mind at the moment. “Are… A-are you really _me?_ ”

 Brother Zatoichi didn’t reply right away, instead seeming to let the new information sink in for a moment. Then, he stepped away from his fallen opponent, sheathing his blades. He then made his way over to the three teens that had stayed well back from the fight, coming to a stop in front of the oldest turtle. Leo stared up at the figure for a moment, having not realized quite how tall the monk had been. Then, Brother Zatoichi raised his hands, pulling back his hood and revealing a bald green head.

 Leonardo couldn’t stop himself from drawing in a sharp gasp at what he saw. The large robed turtle had a band of fine blue silk wrapped around his head and covering his eyes, two jagged scars cutting down across his face at a sharp diagonal angle. Each scar passed over the exact spot where his eyes would be under that silk band. Leo’s eyes widened a bit in realization. It was him, no doubt about that, but…

 “A-are you _blind?!_ ” he blurted out before he could stop himself, painfully aware too late how rude it sounded to his own ears. It was a genuine question though, and Brother Zatoichi nodded slowly in the affirmative.

 “I am, child.” He replied in that calm, soft rasp he had when he first arrived, as though no fight had just taken place at all. Michelangelo stared up at the blind swordsman in utter awe.

 “ _Duuude!_ You did all that without bein’ able to _see?!_ And I thought Future _Me_ was badass!”

 “And I am afraid _he_ is who I must discuss with you now.” The larger turtle added, a small trace of ice entering his normally even-tempered tone. “What has this Colonel told you with that silver tongue of his to convince you children to fight at his side?”

 Leo’s brow furrowed at that. What was he implying, speaking in such a way?

 “He… He told us just what I told you, that he was fighting the Shredder. What else do we need to know to want to help him? Isn’t that enough?” he replied, growing a bit unsure of himself now.

 “And has he told you _why_ he fights the Shredder?”

 That question seemed to make Leonardo’s brain stop for a moment.

 “Wh-what kind of question is _that?_ He’s been hunting our Sensei since before we were born! He _killed_ him! What other reason could the Colonel possibly need?!”

 “Yes, he was hunting _Hamato Yoshi_. He killed _Hamato Yoshi_. Therefore, what reason is there to continue this destruction any longer? The Warmongers have chosen a path of pain, of misery, of death. They have chosen the path of _vengeance_. And just where has this vengeance gotten them? New York is nothing more than a pile of rubble. _Thousands_ have died in this war of his, something I find absolutely abhorrent. He’s going to have to answer for each and every one of those deaths, _alone_.”

 Leonardo couldn’t help but stare up at his future self with a look of pure horrified disgust on his face. His fists balled up at his sides, an anger beginning to burn inside him. Was this really what he would become? Was it truly possible that he could ever come to think so callously about his own brothers, and especially Master Splinter? Had his heart been gouged out along with his eyes?

 “So you’re satisfied to just let your own _brother_ die out there while _you_ hide away?! What kind of coward are you?!” he roared, his building emotions quickly starting to overcome him. Brother Zatoichi seemed unphased at the accusation, and his reply, delivered coolly and casually as ever, was the last thing Leonardo could have ever imagined coming out of his own mouth, no matter how much time had passed.

 “That _monster_ is no brother of mine.”

 And that was all he could take. Leonardo snapped, his rage boiling over, and he lunged at the monk with both hands aiming at the uncaring bastard’s throat. He may not have his weapons, but he would be perfectly satisfied with strangling the life out of him with his bare hands if he had to! He was grabbed from behind before he ever got the chance, and this time it was Michelangelo holding a struggling Leonardo down against his will.

 “ _You sorry son of a bitch!!_ ” he yelled at the top of his lungs, glaring with absolute hatred at the robed turtle as he quietly turned away from them. Brother Zatoichi didn’t say another word as he ascended the stone staircase to his temple, leaving them there to go back to New York with empty hands, their efforts completely wasted.


	4. The Lost Boys

 Major O’Neil’s group had to make their trip on foot. The entrance to the Holland Tunnel had been blocked by rubble on the New York side of the Hudson River enough to make passing through on anything with wheels virtually impossible. It worked out fairly well that way, in any case. It would take them just about as long to walk to Newark as it would take Sergei and his group to drive to their destination in Pennsylvania.

 As they trudged along the deserted highway of the Pulaski Skyway, the mood seemed to be one of general grumbling. Casey was still grumbling about letting April go off with the Russian Major as her escort, and Raphael was still grumbling about being in New Jersey at all. Only Donatello seemed to have gotten over his grievances with the mission enough to focus on other things. He’d jogged ahead from where the other two teens were reluctantly following behind, catching up with Major O’Neil and walking alongside her for a while.

 “Uhh… Major O’Neil? Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asked hesitantly, unsure if he should have added a ‘Ma’am’ to the end of that. The Major seemed to let military propriety fall to the wayside now that they were off base, addressing the young turtle casually.

 “Of course, Donnie. What would you like to talk about?”

 Donatello couldn’t help but smile as she used his nickname, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks at the fact that she was still willing to call him that after so many years. He then shook his lingering admiration for the woman out of his head, knowing that to be even more hopeless an endeavor than chasing after his own April.

 “I actually kinda wanted to talk about _you_. Well, you and Colonel Hamato, to be more precise. Last night, when he started to fly off the handle, I could have sworn I saw you…” he let his thought trail off uncompleted, noticing a small smile of understanding spread across Major O’Neil’s lips.

 “So you saw that? I often forget how perceptive you were, even at your age.”

 “I’m honestly amazed I noticed it myself. I’d have never imagined your powers could have grown so strong, even after all this time.”

 “These past fifteen years have given me more practice than anyone would have guessed, unfortunately.”

 “I take it you have to do that quite often, then? Control the Colonel, I mean.”

 “It’s…” O’Neil began, but she paused, seemingly unsure how to explain. “It’s not _control_. Not really. The force I would have to exert over his mind to truly control him, especially against his will, would absolutely destroy him. I can’t put new thoughts into his head, either. He’d notice a foreign thought too easily and immediately distance himself from me to keep me out of his head. Emotions are a lot easier to get away with manipulating, since they’re not as concrete in our minds and it’s often hard to tell exactly why we feel as we do, but there are still limits to what I can do even with that. I can only strengthen and weaken the impulses that are already there. I can’t, for example, make him feel happy out of the blue if there’s no happiness there to work with in the first place. At this point, the best I can do is make him feel numb to it all so he can continue on with the fight for as long as his body will last.”

 Donatello couldn’t help but stare up at Major O’Neil with a newfound glint of attraction in his eyes. She was like a female R. Daneel Olivaw, bronze hair and everything! Of course, he knew better than to comment along those lines, quite sure that he was the only one of his generation that actually read Isaac Asimov novels anymore. The Colonel, on the other hand… Well, he couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. If O’Neil hadn’t been by his side this whole time, he’d have probably gone just as insane as the Professor…

 “W-wait, if you can do all this for the Colonel, why didn’t you help the Professor? Surely you could have helped hold _his_ mind together.” He asked suddenly, his previous thought reminding him of his own future predicament. Major O’Neil let out a heavy sigh, shaking her head.

 “The situation was different. It had all happened so fast… Casey had just died, and the medics were fighting for days to keep Mike alive. The shock hit us all hard, but I think it hit Don the worst. With his friend dead and his brother dying right in front of him, he just sort of… _broke_. By the time Mike’s condition started improving and I’d gotten over my own shock enough to try to help him, he was already too far gone. I wish I could have done more, but… I’m sorry, Donnie…”

 

* * *

 

 

 They finally left the raised highway once they reached an intact exit ramp leading down to Newark. This, like every other scrap of civilization in the area, had been utterly destroyed. Buildings were gutted, chunks of bricks and concrete littering the streets. What walls remained standing were coated with graffiti, and a few cars had been turned on their roofs. Raphael let out a light scoff.

 “Jeez, did the Shredder even come through here? Looks about normal to me.” He joked with a slight smirk on his face. Donatello merely rolled his eyes.

 “Give it a rest, Raph. Not even Newark was this bad before, and you know it.”

 The next several minutes was spent climbing over rubble in a seemingly aimless direction, the Major peeking into every building they passed for some signs of recent habitation. They found plenty of signs; makeshift shelters propped up against the crumbling edifices of destroyed buildings, dirty tatters of cloth laid out here and there for beds. What they didn’t find were the people who had left it all there. Finally, it was Casey who had tired of the fruitless search enough to complain about it.

 “What the heck are we even lookin’ for out here, Red? There’s nothing! What, are we just gonna keep turning over rocks and hope there’s a giant turtle hiding under one of ‘em?”

 “We’re looking for someone who can point us in the right direction. We know Raphael is in this area, but we haven’t pinned down a particular location he frequents, if he even has such a place. The locals around here all know him, so one of them should be able to give us a hint.” The Major replied as she led them through a gap in a half-crumbled wall.

 “Wait, you don’t even know where I am?!” Raph replied, a little dejected, as he squeezed through the gap after the others. They soon found themselves inside the remains of an old brick building, the collapsed roof leaving the interior open to the sky. They hadn’t taken four steps inside when a voice addressed them from the shadows.

 “You guys lost or somethin’?”

 The voice was clearly that of a young boy, but he spoke with a tone that vaguely implied a threat, as though they were trespassing on his turf. They turned their attention to this new voice just in time to watch a boy of about ten step out into the sunlight, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his tattered jeans. He had light brown skin, his hair plated back into tight cornrows against his skull, and he had a smirk on his face that just radiated confidence. He had the air of a child trying to make himself out to be a big man in front of strangers. Major O’Neil didn’t seem particularly impressed.

 “We’re looking for the Seraphim. Do you know where we can find him?” she asked evenly. Quite predictably, she felt movement behind her as Raphael got close enough to whisper up to her.

 “’Seraphim?’ Where the hell did I get a name like that?” he asked, but he didn’t get a reply. The Major’s attention was focused on the boy in front of them, who merely shrugged his shoulders casually.

 “Sorry, lady. ‘Fraid I’m the only ‘angel’ around here.” He replied, his smirk growing into a full grin. They then heard as faint giggles of amusement came at them from all directions. They heard movement around the rubble, and soon saw the faces of more children peeking out at them from behind large holes in the walls, even some looking down on them from the exposed floor above. There had to be over a dozen of them. They all seemed to be growing more confident by the minute, now that one of their number was taking on these strangers himself.

 “Let’s rough ‘em up, Gabe!” one of the rambunctious youths called out from his hiding spot.

 “Yeah, let’s show ‘em what happens ta trespassers!” called another from above.

 “I bet they ain’t even gonna fight back! Them rebels only know how ta fight robots!” came a third from somewhere behind them. Slowly, the other young boys came crawling out from the rubble in such a way that reminded the three teens of the Footbot scouts that had stalked them on their first night in this twisted timeline. The first boy, the one the others called ‘Gabe,’ seemed amused at the looks on their faces.

 “What’sa matter? Ya scared of some li’l kids?” he taunted before pulling a weapon from where it had been sticking up out of his back pocket. Raphael gasped when he saw what it was; a pair of old, color-faded nunchaku.

 “Hey, that’s _Mikey’s!_ ” he growled out. The boy merely chuckled, swinging the weapon at his side.

 “Finders keepers!” he teased in a sing-song voice.

 “ _Gabriel!!_ ”

 The boy’s grin disappeared in an instant as the deep, booming voice barked out his name from somewhere above them. He quickly looked around as though searching for a place to hide, but he was too far out in the open. The other boys had already scrambled for cover before a giant mass came crashing down to the ground floor with an impact so great that Donatello was surprised it hadn’t left a crater. Gabriel cursed under his breath, trying to make a break for it before the figure rose up, but he soon found his wrist captured in the grip of a strong green hand.

 Raphael stared up in awe as an absolute titan of a turtle rose up to his full imposing height before him. He’d thought it was Slash at first, but the absence of spikes proved that assumption wrong. Broad, muscular shoulders were clearly visible even under the thick leather of a ragged brown jacket, a glint of metal at his waist where a pair of sais rested in his belt. A faded red skull-cap-style mask clung to his head, the left eye sewn shut. He had a rather prominent scar running down over his lips to the one side, a wooden toothpick sticking out of the corner of his mouth just next to it. A single green eye narrowed down at the four of them in suspicion, but Raphael couldn’t help but stare back in admiration. Screw the Colonel, _this_ guy looked like a real badass!

 “The fuck you tryin’ to pull here, O’Neil? What is all this?” came the gruff, low growl that was the large turtle’s voice. He continued to stare down at the three teens at the Major’s side, particularly the young turtle in the red mask.

 “It’s a long story. Would you be willing to talk for a minute?” she replied calmly, clearly not intimidated even as she stared up at the mutant turtle currently towering over her.

 “That depends. Is that psychopath of yours tryin’ to recruit me again?” he growled bitterly, not needing to explain exactly who he was referring to beyond that. His response was an even, unblinking stare from the Major. He seemed to consider her for a moment, his teeth grinding down on his toothpick as he gave the situation some thought. His eye glanced down at Raphael once more, and he decided.

 “Fine, I’ll _talk_ … But that’s all I’m promising. And as for the rest of ya!” he raised his voice up to its earlier booming bellow as he addressed the children still hiding away all around them. “Yer all grounded! No playing on the surface for a week! Now get yer sorry asses back down to the tunnels before I kick ‘em there myself!”

 There was a chorus of protesting groans from the children as they slowly crawled out of their hiding places and made their way out of the building with their heads hanging in defeat. Their towering guardian followed them out, nodding for the four trespassers to come along with them. Donatello made his way up next to Major O’Neil again as they followed.

 “That was easier than I expected. The way the Colonel was talking, I figured he’d send us back to New York the instant he saw you. Did you..?” he whispered, trailing off his question as to not give the Major’s secret weapon away to the others.

 “Yes, I did. It was tricky trying to nudge him in the direction of wanting talking to us without him catching onto me. He’s always been stubborn as a mule. Of course, I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

 

* * *

 

 

 They were led to a nearby subway entrance, descending down into the dark undergrounds of the city. Only when they had reached the relative safety of the subway terminal did the large turtle let the dozen or so young children run off out of his sight. The terminal itself, long abandoned by commuters, had become something of a refugee camp. Two-by-fours and sheets of corrugated metal had been salvaged and dragged down onto the platform, all hammered together to make small, sectioned off living quarters. Much to their surprise, the power was still running down there, most of the lights overhead still working. There were plenty of people, too. About as many as one might expect if the trains were still running on a busy day. A few of them called out to the large turtle as he passed by them on his way to one of the derelict subway cars.

 “’Ey, look! Seraphim went and found himself a broad! Maybe she can work that stick outta his ass for ‘im!” came one taunting male’s voice, accompanied by a loud catcall and a round of raucous laughter from the group gathered around him. Seraphim gave the men a sneer.

 “Go eat a bag of dicks, Johnny!” he barked back before climbing into an open rail car, the floor of which creaked lightly under his weight. Raphael quirked a brow at the way the man had pronounced his future self’s odd nickname.

 “Se- _Raph_ -im? Real cute…” Raph mumbled sarcastically, a bit embarrassed. The larger turtle leading the way let out a grumble that reflected the same embarrassment.

 “Look, I didn’t come up with it. The humans started callin’ me that, and it just stuck…” Seraphim replied with some impatience, though it seemed to have earned him another odd look from his younger self. Raphael was starting to hear just the faintest trace of a North Jersey accent coming through in the older turtle’s voice, particularly when he said the word ‘humans’ – it came out sounding more like ‘yoomans.’ It seemed the name wasn’t the only thing that had stuck on him over here. Raph gave a slight shudder at the thought. Fucking _Jersey_ …

 “So, Seraphim, or whatever the hell ya wanna go by… What was with those kids? You don’t exactly look like the babysittin’ type.” Casey commented once they were all in the privacy of the subway car.

 “They’re orphans. We just call ‘em the Lost Boys, though there’s some girls in there, too.” Seraphim replied as he took a seat on one of the bench seats lining the walls of the car. It looked as though he’d converted this half of the car into his own personal bedroom, the other half divided off by a ragged tarp and likely reserved for someone else. Casey got a hint of who that someone else might be when he caught several small faces trying to peek in on them from under the frayed bottom edge of the tarp. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself.

 “Guess that makes you their Peter Pan?” he commented mostly to himself with a small chuckle, though he wiped the smile off his face once he caught Seraphim’s fierce one-eyed glare.

 “Clever, kid. Like I ain’t heard that one a million fucking times.” He growled, clearly not in a joking mood at the moment. “I look after ‘em because no one else will. Once society collapsed around here, it became every man, woman, and child for themselves. Most of these kids’ parents died to Shredder’s robots, or in the strikes against the rebels. The robots don’t seem to pay attention to kids that young, so they’re usually just left to die on their own. I take in the ones I find and try to train them up a bit, make sure they’re prepared for when they’re old enough for the robots to start coming for ‘em.”

 “Sounds to me like you and the Colonel should be on the same page, then. Why are you all the way out here instead of helping your brother fight the Shredder?” Raphael asked, though he had to immediately take a step back as Seraphim suddenly rose to his feet, glaring down at him.

 “I ain’t even _close_ to the same page as that maniac! Hell, we ain’t even in the same _book_ anymore!” he roared with sudden fury. There was a small sound of shuffling behind the tarp, likely the Lost Boys running for cover over in their half of the rail car. “He’s still got his head stuck in the past, while I’m tryin’ to make sure these kids still have a chance at a future! We wouldn’t even be in this situation if it wasn’t for that son of a bitch! The Shredder woulda never gone this far if Mike hadn’t instigated all this by using the name ‘Hamato!’ _He’s_ the one that just couldn’t let it go, and he dragged poor Don down with him in his stupid delusions that he’s still fighting his father’s war! But _my_ Master, _my_ father wouldn’t have turned this into a war! Not at this cost!”

 “But Shredder killed Master Splinter! He killed our father! _Your_ father!” Raphael retorted, matching his future self fury for fury.

 “But Master Splinter wouldn’t have wanted it this way! That ‘Colonel,’ these rebels, they corrupt his memory by letting all this destruction continue in his name!” he retorted without delay, shooting Major O’Neil a savage glare. “Have they told you yet who they’re working with?! _Rocksteady!_ That fucker wanted us dead since _before_ he was working for Shredder, and now Mike listens to that two-faced bastard more than he does his own _brothers!_ For Christ’s sake, he’s sold himself to the _Russians_ for this war!”

 Raphael flinched a bit at that, remembering his own similar comments when he’d first learned of the rebels’ unlikely ally. He understood now what the Colonel had meant by ‘you sound just like _him_.’ His fists clenched defiantly at his sides.

 “Look, what’s done is done! The only thing that matters now is _ending_ it! If we kill Shredder, then all of this pain and destruction will be over! You can all go back to the way it was!”

 “No…” Seraphim replied, his voice taking a sharp drop in volume from the shouting match he had just been involved in. He closed his eye, shaking his downturned head slightly. “No, it can _never_ go back to the way it was… This war has changed everything, even ourselves…”

 The large turtle then made his way over to the door of the subway car, shoving it open.

 “Get out. I promised I’d talk, and that’s what I did. We’re done here.” He ordered in an even, somewhat subdued tone. Slowly, they filed out one by one, Raphael bringing up the rear. He paused before jumping out, looking up at his future self one last time. Seraphim refused to make eye contact with him. He let out a sigh and left, completely disappointed in the man he would become.

 

* * *

 

 

 Raphael was still dragging his heels as they made their way towards the stairs back up to the surface. He just couldn’t believe it… Out of all of them, he thought _he’d_ be able to help if no one else would. This meeting with his future self had turned out to be one big slap in the face. How could he have turned out like that? How could he ever just sit back and watch his brothers die, refusing to help because of some stupid idealism? Master Splinter may not have wanted a war in his name, but Raph knew damn sure he wouldn’t have wanted his sons to act this way towards each other either.

 Donatello noticed his brother falling behind and slowed down himself, letting Major O’Neil and Casey proceed up the stairs without them. He gave the sulking turtle a weak attempt at a smile.

 “Hey, how you holding up back here?” he asked, trying his best to sound chipper. Raphael merely let out a sigh and shook his head.

 “Man, I don’t even know anymore…” he mumbled glumly. Donnie was about to reply with another attempt at cheering his brother up when he was cut off by a strangely metallic, monotone voice.

 “Professor Hamato, I have been looking for you.”

 Both turtles turned around when the familiar voice reached their ears. The man that rose up against the nearby wall to greet them was pale, his dark hair short and curly, his once neat black suit hanging off him in tatters. One of his eyes stared blankly, almost humanly at them, while the other glowed a dim pink and was surrounded by exposed, rust-speckled metal. His right leg looked as though it had snapped clean off above the knee, a length of steel pipe welded in its place as a crude replacement. Even in this sorry state, the two turtles recognized him instantly.

 “Bishop!” Raphael called out in surprise as the disguised Kraang-droid hobbled towards them on his makeshift leg, a medium-sized package tucked under one arm. The alien’s robotic suit suddenly jerked to a stop about halfway between where he’d been sitting and where the turtles were standing. They had to peek around him to see what was the matter; he’d run out of length in the cord linking the robot’s power unit to a spliced-open cable in the wall. It must have been the only thing still giving it power.

 Bishop’s face looked even blanker than usual, if such a thing was even possible for a Kraang. The two of them had to close the distance between themselves and the crippled alien, yet, even then, no real sense of recognition made itself plain on his damaged face. Both Raphael and Donatello exchanged looked of confusion before Raph waved a hand in front of the droid’s face.

 “Hello! Earth to Bishop! You sleep-walking or something? Is that even a _thing_ for Kraang?” he asked, to which he actually got a response. It just wasn’t a terribly helpful response.

 “Professor Hamato, I have been looking for you.” It replied in the same manner as before. Raph tilted his head slightly, not understanding.

 “Yeah, great. We know that already. Hey, Don, what do you think the deal is with the broken record act?” he asked, looking to his brother for answers. Donatello merely stared forward at the Kraang-droid, though not at its face. His expression was solemn, his eyes holding a sudden sadness in them. Raphael traced the other turtle’s gaze and soon found himself staring at the robot’s abdomen. There was a small tear in Bishop’s shirt where it tucked into his pants, a small, withered pink tentacle hanging lifelessly out of it. Raph drew in a sharp gasp, looking up to Donnie once more.

 “How long has the program I am speaking to been running?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

 “Seven years, two months, and fifteen days.” Came the robot’s automatic reply. It then held the package out to the turtle, reiterating part of its earlier statement. “I have been looking for you.”

 “P-program?” Raph repeated, still staring at the robot in disbelief. As far as he knew, Kraang-droids couldn’t operate without a Kraang inside them. Donatello let out a heavy sigh.

 “It’s very limited in capacity. Very simple. Bishop must have programmed it to bring this thing to the Professor just before he…” but he couldn’t make himself finish, still staring at that thin, dead tentacle. Finally, he reached out and took the package offered to him before the robot could repeat itself once more. It was a bit heavier than it looked, and was in the shape of a triangular prism. Donnie would have guessed that it was a Triceraton power core, but he’d never seen one this big before.

 As soon as the package left its hands, the robot turned around and hobbled back to its spot against the wall. It lowered down to a sitting position with a strained whir of gears, resting its back against the tile wall next to the staircase. It then reached behind itself and pulled the power cord from its back. The dim light in the Kraang-droid’s exposed optic lingered for a moment before it faded away, and the robot was left motionless, deactivated forever.


	5. The General

 When Major O’Neil and her group finally made it back to base, they found that Sergei’s group had beaten them there by about fifteen minutes. The Major led the way into the debriefing room, where the others were already waiting, the Colonel included. She couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of a second adult turtle in the room. She let out a sigh. So they hadn’t had much better luck than she’d had. Then, her eyes drifted over to the other Major in the room, who was doing his best to avoid eye-contact with her and look as nonchalant as possible. He couldn’t hide the large patch of gauze that had been taped over his broken nose, or the bruising that spread over the middle of his face. O’Neil’s eyes narrowed, her hands setting themselves against her hips.

 “Sergei Ivanovich Steranko!” she began in the firm tone of a scolding mother, causing Sergei to flinch appropriately. “What did I say about fighting Zatoichi?! You did, didn’t you?! You’re lucky he didn’t _kill_ you!”

 Sergei merely spread his hands helplessly, trying his best to put on one of his half-cocked smirks without causing himself too much pain.

 “What can I say? It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I wanted to see how well I stacked up in a _real_ fight against one of the Turtles.”

 Major O’Neil let out a small huff before marching up to the Russian officer and giving him a swift flick on the nose. He let out a rather undignified yelp, his hands shooting up to cover his bandaged face, muffled foreign expletives spewing forth in an unbroken stream under his breath. The woman merely shook her head at him.

 “Why do I insist on dating idiots?”

 “ _Hey!_ ” The offended monosyllable was barked out by two voices at once. Sure enough, both Casey Jones and Sergei Steranko found themselves glaring at each other just a moment later.

 

* * *

 

 

 Raphael walked right past the little altercation that was brewing between the two human males, heading for one of the seats against the wall of the debriefing room. Leonardo was already sitting there, quite intentionally by himself, his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes staring sulkily at the floor. He took the seat next to his older brother, his expression no less glum.

 “So, what was yours like?” Raph asked with little enthusiasm in his voice, as though he was sure it would be bad. Leo replied with a sigh.

 “Blind zealot monk. You make out any better?” he mumbled out, never looking up at the other. Raph shook his head.

 “One-eyed idealist Peter Pan…” he admitted with considerable effort. Leo didn’t bother asking for an explanation. All he could do was to hold his head in his hands.

 “How could it have ended up like this? How did we all change so much?” the leader in blue asked, sinking a bit deeper into despair. He felt Raph’s hand come up to rest on his shoulder.

 “I don’t know… But as soon as we get back to our own time, I’m gonna make damn sure it _doesn’t_ end up like this. We can’t let ourselves drift apart like this, Leo. We’ve gotta stick together, no matter what.”

 Leonardo sat there for a moment, letting the idea sink in. Of course, Raphael was right. There was no way they could let this horrible future come to past. They were all brothers, and brothers they would remain forever. There was a sharp pang of guilt that stabbed at his heart when he thought that, and he couldn’t help but look around the room. He found Michelangelo sitting alone in the far corner, his leg bouncing anxiously as he stared down at the floor. Leo excused himself from the conversation with Raph and made his way over to where his baby brother sat.

 “H-hey, Mikey?” he began hesitantly, taking a seat next to the younger turtle. “I… I just wanted to apologize for what Zatoichi said about you back there…”

 “It’s okay, Leo.” Mikey replied blandly. Leonardo shook his head at that answer.

 “No, it’s _not_.” He insisted. “Mikey, I could _never_ think of you as a monster. I still can’t believe he even had the nerve to say something like that!”

 “Seriously, it’s _okay_ , bro. Besides, I dunno if he was really serious about it. It almost seemed like he was tryin’ to hide sumthin’ up in that temple of his.”

 Leonardo’s brows furrowed at that, and he couldn’t help but stare down at his baby brother for a moment. He hadn’t picked up on that at all. Or rather, he was too blinded by fury at his future self to notice something as subtle as that. Perhaps he didn’t give Michelangelo enough credit. He’d always thought of him as too much of a goofball to do proper reconnaissance, but this was a good lead.

 “Hiding something? Like what?”

 “I dunno…” Mikey replied, thinking. Then, his baby blue eyes seemed to light up with their usual youthful excitement. “Ooh, maybe he’s got the super-secret awesome ending to Crognard the Barbarian! Or maybe he found the Holy Grail of all food; the _one-hundred-cheese pizza!_ ”

 Leonardo couldn’t help but continue to stare for a long moment more as Michelangelo continued to rattle off more and more trivial things that he thought the Brotherhood of Serenity could be hiding that – in his mind, at least – seemed like the most wondrous things in the world. He couldn’t stop a small smile from spreading across his lips at that sparkle of imagination and wonder in his baby brother’s bright eyes, a look completely absent in the cold, vengeful eyes of Colonel Hamato. He wrapped an arm around the younger turtle, pulling him close into a tight hug. Maybe being a goofball wasn’t so bad after all.

 

* * *

 

 

 “Excuse me… Colonel Hamato?”

 The Colonel looked down when he heard his name called, meeting a pair of sad hazel eyes. His hard expression of authority seemed to soften a bit as he found himself staring down at the young Donatello.

 “Yes, Don? What is it?” he asked in a low voice, keeping his now less-than-commanding tone between the two of them. He seemed willing to drop the military act momentarily for him, just as Major O’Neil had done earlier. Donatello still seemed to hesitate regardless, but eventually held out the thick triangular package he’d brought back with him from Newark.

 “I was told to bring this to the Professor.”

 The Colonel’s hard expression returned at that, and he eyed the package suspiciously, as though it could be a bomb of some sort.

 “Who gave it to you?” he demanded.

 “Bishop.” Was the immediate reply. The Colonel’s eyes widened at that.

 “ _Bishop_ gave this to you? But we haven’t had any contact with him in over _seven years_. We thought he’d been dead all this time.”

 “He _has_ been…” Donnie replied, his voice growing faint as he looked away. The Colonel took another glance down at the package with a new understanding of what must be inside, then he looked back at the somber expression on Donatello’s face. He let out a small sigh. Bishop had been sent out to retrieve this particular artifact well before the Professor had lost his mind. He didn’t have the heart to tell the poor kid that the original intended purpose for the package’s contents had likely been lost to madness, that the Utrom agent had died for nothing trying to bring it to them. Instead, he merely took the package as carefully as he could in his remaining hand.

 “Thank you, Donatello. I’ll make sure the Professor gets this just as soon as we’re done here.” He replied softly. The Colonel then turned to the rest of the room, his expression hardening once more.

 “Alright, our efforts to bolster our forces might have failed, but that doesn’t mean our mission can’t still go through. General Steranko and I have confirmed that the final strike will be at dawn tomorrow. Major O’Neil, Major Steranko, I need you two to be ready to head out again in fifteen minutes. The three of us are going to the Russian base to discuss the final details of the plan.”

 “W-wait, what about us?” Leonardo interjected, rising to his feet once it looked like the briefing would be ended without including the bunch of them.

 “What _about_ you?” was the biting reply. Leo couldn’t help but flinch at that.

 “I mean… Can’t we come along, Sir? We might be able to help in some way.”

 “Right, like you helped with Zatoichi and the Seraphim? Great job with that, by the way.” The Colonel replied with stinging sarcasm. Major O’Neil narrowed her eyes slightly at her commanding officer.

 “Mike…” she muttered under her breath, her scolding tone returning. The Colonel immediately let out a sigh, raising his hand in surrender.

 “Fine, _whatever_. It’s not like it matters anymore, anyway.” He gave in readily, suddenly seeming too tired to argue any longer. “But you’ll have to find a way of getting them out there with us on the bikes. I’m not taking one of those damn jeeps. They’re too bulky and not maneuverable enough to get around the rubble in the streets.”

 Major O’Neil looked over to Sergei at that, who merely shrugged his shoulders.

 “My old Dnepr will only take three passengers, and it’s the only one with a side car. Two of the others are going to have to ride along with you two, but that still leaves one of them out.”

 “I’ll have Sergeant Ortiz come along with us, then. He can take one of them and act as a sentry for us.” Major O’Neil decided, turning back to the Colonel for approval. He nodded his head.

 “Alright, but anyone who’s not ready in fifteen gets left behind. Get moving.”

 

* * *

 

 

 The Colonel had given them fifteen minutes to get ready, so naturally they made sure to complete all preparations in ten. Four motorcycles were waiting for them when they all made their way into the hangar that housed the rebels’ store of vehicles; Sergei’s old military bike with the sidecar, two that looked to have been street racers of some unidentifiable Japanese design, and one that had been so thoroughly modified that it was hard to tell what sort of motorcycle it had been in the first place.

 The Colonel took the liberty of directing the six teens to who they were going to be riding with. Casey and April both climbed into the cramped side car of Sergei’s Dnepr, with Mikey taking the seat behind the Major this time. Major O’Neil took one of the Japanese racers and was given Donatello as a passenger. The lanky turtle wore the single biggest grin that he’d ever had on his face as he scooched up close against the woman’s back and wrapped his arms around her waist. He couldn’t resist shooting that satisfied look over at Casey, who gave him a sneer in return. Leonardo hopped on the back of the other racer with Sergeant Ortiz, who seemed to be an agreeable enough fellow in his early twenties. That left Raphael to ride with the Colonel on the custom job.

 Raphael hesitated before joining the older turtle on the bike, his eyes drifting up to what little remained of the Colonel’s left arm. He then had to picture the controls of a typical motorcycle in his head; accelerator and front brake on the right handlebar, clutch lever on the left.

 “Uhh… No offense or anything, but… How the hell do you ride a motorcycle with only one arm?” Raph asked, suddenly doubting the Colonel’s abilities for the first time. The older turtle merely turned the handlebars in such a way that it gave the younger one a better look at the right handlebar. The clutch lever had been rerouted to the other side, positioned low under the lever for the brakes. It could be operated with just the right hand, but it would take a lot of practice and some serious dexterity and coordination.

 “You could always stay behind, boy.” The Colonel retorted impatiently, his eyes narrowing at the continued look of apprehension on the teen turtle’s face. He was still rather hesitant, unsure of how well those modified controls worked, but Raphael eventually climbed on the back of the bike.

 The initial burst of acceleration was enough to pull a startled yelp from the young ninja, his arms instantly wrapping tightly around the Colonel’s waist as they took off. They passed through a narrow opening in the hangar doors and were soon blasting down the debris-riddled street, weaving between chunks of scattered concrete and ruined cars as they rocketed across Manhattan. They passed through Times Square, what was once one of the most beautiful, most famous intersections in the world. The streets were deserted now, the buildings crumbling, the iconic Broadway billboards covered by tattered sheets depicting the sun-bleached crest of the Foot Clan. The New Year’s Ball lay shattered on the sidewalk in front of the old Times Building.

 The rest of the streets they passed through looked much the same as anywhere else; destroyed, barren, and devoid of life. It wasn’t until they arrived at the docks that the debris in the road seemed to have gotten less treacherous. The small convoy came to a stop in front of one of the large warehouses there, though what made this one different from all the others wasn’t clear to any of the six teens. Well, not to any of the five that had been paying attention.

 Raphael was still clinging for dear life to the Colonel’s shell when the engine of the motorcycle finally cut off, his eyes wide with fright and his skin cold as ice. Michelangelo couldn’t help but laugh at his older brother’s expression when they came up to rest next to them.

 “Hey, Raph! Ya still alive back there?” Mikey teased with a grin, having become quite used to being a passenger with Sergei from their first trip out to find the Brotherhood of Serenity. Raphael didn’t look as though he was willing to stop holding his breath long enough to answer his baby brother, merely giving the slightest shake of his head. The Colonel let out an exasperated sigh, reaching back and prying the young turtle off of his back before dropping him unceremoniously to the ground.

 “Would you sack up already? I wasn’t going to hit anything. I know these streets like the back of my hand.”

 “ _Which_ hand?!” Raphael shouted rather urgently, jumping up to his feet with his eyes still wide in utter terror at the ride he’d just had to endure. His comment went ignored for the most part, as the Colonel was already making his way up towards the abandoned warehouse they’d parked in front of. He made his way over to a boarded up door that was still barely marked ‘employee entrance’ by the sun-faded sign above it. He gave three resounding bangs with his fist on the board covering the small window in the door, paused, and gave two more. The board, though it had looked like it was nailed pretty securely in place, slid aside to reveal a pair of blue eyes, bushy black eyebrows hunched low over them as they inspected the group outside.

 “New York is in ashes.” Came a deep voice with a very thick Russian accent.

 “But Moscow is still burning.” The Colonel replied without missing a beat. The board snapped shut and there was the sound of heavy locks coming undone before the door swung open. A huge bear of a man stood aside as he allowed the group to enter, abruptly raising a hand in salute as Sergei passed by. The teens noticed that the man at the door wore a similar uniform to the Russian Major they’d come to know.

 The interior of the warehouse looked remarkably like the rebels’ hangar, though it was filled with a considerable amount more of genuine military equipment. However, the Russian’s armory, much like that of the rebels, certainly looked as though it had seen better days.

 “Comrade Hamato, is always good to be seeing you alive.”

 The group turned when they heard the all-too-familiar voice behind them. The man that had addressed them was no man at all, but a towering mutant rhinoceros, bright gold insignia bars stretching across the broad shoulders of his black pea coat, a black ushanka perched on top of his head. The Colonel saluted as the large figure approached.

 “Major-General Steranko, a pleasure to see you again.” Colonel Hamato greeted with a measure of respect in his voice, dropping his salute to shake the Russian mutant’s hand in a gesture of friendship. The rhino’s mismatched eyes then drifted to the tall blonde man in the group. Sergei had saluted as well, but allowed a small smile to cross his face.

 “Zdravstvuyte, Batya.” He said to the General in more casual a tone than one would expect when addressing someone of that rank. The rhino seemed to smile back warmly, giving the Major a nod of his head.

 “Zdravstvuyte, moy syn.” He replied in their native Russian before turning his attention to the others. He seemed to straighten his posture a bit in the presence of these figures from the distant past. “Was not expecting such big group, Comrade… Or so many faces from old days. Is this being part of your plan somehow?”

 The six teens couldn’t help but stare between the mutant rhino and Michelangelo’s future self as they exchanged pleasant greetings as though they were old friends. That sort of thing just didn’t compute in their minds. A _Turtle_ working with _Rocksteady?!_ They’d never have truly believed it if they hadn’t seen it with their own eyes, even though the Colonel had explained it all to them already.

 “Woah, dude… This is, like, some serious Twilight Zone stuff right here…” Mikey commented breathlessly, his mouth still hanging open in awe at the fact that he was standing mere feet from one of their old enemies and he _wasn’t_ getting the crap kicked out of him. Granted, the rhino did look considerably older than the turtle remembered him being, and there were quite a few new scars on his face, but he still proved to be quite the intimidating figure despite his age. The Colonel ignored his younger self’s comments as he continued to address the Russian leader.

 “It’s a long story, General. In the meantime, we should probably get down to business. We only have a few hours of daylight left to work with.”

 “Da, is true. Come.” Rocksteady replied, beckoning them to follow him with the wave of a rough, gray hand. He led them over to a large table that, similar to the one in rebels’ command center, was covered with maps of New York City. The main map of focus seemed to be of a single large complex of buildings surrounded by a large circle of clear land, wide roadways leading from the outermost structures before coming to an abrupt end at the area’s perimeter. If it was someplace in New York, it certainly wasn’t anything the six teens from the past recognized.

 “This is being map of Shredder’s fortress.” Rocksteady explained, mostly for the benefit of the young newcomers. He then indicated one section of the massive complex’s outer edge. “Will gather all ground forces at northern perimeter before dawn, when Swarm is still away from base. Then, one of our men will broadcast Footbot beacon signal to draw Shredder’s Bombers away while we rush the fortress.”

 “Wait, hold on a sec…” Donatello interjected briefly. “What’s a ‘Footbot beacon?’”

 “It’s a signal the Footbot scouts use to call the Bombers.” Major O’Neil explained. “Once a scout has found a rebel stronghold, it’s to call the Bombers in to destroy the entire area. We’d be destroyed in an instant if we tried to rush Shredder’s base with his air brigade still hanging around. The fake signal will give us a short window to break in while they’re off after a dummy location.”

 “Man, I’d hate ta be the guy that has to set off the distraction.” Casey said with a shake of his head. “He’ll be blown ta bits within minutes of setting the thing off.”

 “Trust me, I’m well aware of the repercussions…”

 Casey turned when he heard that, meeting Sergei’s stern gaze. His eyes widened a bit.

 “N-no way… _You?_ B-but… It’s a _suicide mission!_ ” the boy exclaimed with a tone of concern that surprised even himself. Sergei gave him a sardonic smile.

 “Didn’t we tell you already, kid? The _whole thing_ is a suicide mission. Whether I die as the distraction or I die in the final charge, it doesn’t really matter. Either way, it will have been an honorable death.”

 “Spoken like true patriot, my boy.” Rocksteady replied, giving his son a look of pride before turning back to their planning. “Once Bombers are gone, I will make entrance for us in northern wall of main structure and ground forces will rush in from this airstrip.”

 “About that entrance, Ivan…” The Colonel interjected, his brows furrowing at the rhino. “Did you ever decide on an alternative plan for that since your gunship’s weapons went out of commission?”

 Rocksteady straightened up at that, looking out into the rest of the warehouse at the large black helicopter parked towards the front of the fleet. It was easily twice as big as the one that had rescued the teens on their first night in that timeline, and looked as though it was heavily armored. The guns were all but dismantled, though. Even so, several Russian soldiers were busy at work readying the old bird for the morning’s mission. The General gave a nod of his head, as though satisfied with the progress being made on it.

 “I will ‘ask’ to come in, in my own special way. I assure you, my old ‘friend’ Shredder will have no choice but to let us in. Would be… _impossible_ to refuse.”

 “You sure you want to do that?” the Colonel asked in a low voice, staring across the table at the other mutant with no trace of humor in his face. Rocksteady replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

 “Is what has to be done, Comrade. Do not fear for me. If my own son is willing to sacrifice his life for this mission, what kind of coward would I be if I turned away from my duties for fear of own safety? Besides…” The rhino’s tone grew more solemn. “I have promise to keep. I cannot run before I avenge Comrade Zeck…”

 “’Comrade Zeck?’ You mean Bebop?” Donatello asked. “I’ve been meaning to ask about him. The two of you were practically inseparable.”

 “Yeah, whatever happened to the ol’ pig? I figured he’d still be with you.” Raphael added with a smirk, but Rocksteady’s stern glare soon wiped the smile from the young turtle’s face.

 “Comrade Zeck was killed… by the Shredder.”

 “The _Shredder?!_ ” Leonardo repeated in surprise. “Why would the Shredder just kill off his own guys like that?”

 “For same reason he wanted to kill _me_. Anton was good friend to me, but not because we both working for Shredder. We both working for organizations that were wary of Foot Clan’s motives. I work for Russian military under guise of black market arms dealer. Anton was investigator for Interpol under guise of a thief.”

 “W-wait… _Interpol?!_ As in the international police organization?!” Donatello interrupted, his mouth hanging open a bit.

 “Dude, Bebop was a police officer? Yer pullin’ my shell!” Mikey added in equal surprise.

 “Okay, seriously, how many spies does the Shredder have working for him?!” Raphael shouted, holding his hands against the sides of his head as though it would keep his mind from spinning. Rocksteady merely nodded.

 “Da, I tell truth. As matter of fact, Anton was not spying on Shredder at first. Was spying on _me_. Interpol was under impression that I was with Russian mafia, was tracking me as part of organized crime investigation. Once we were mutate, was decided that Shredder was bigger threat, so he start spying on him, as I did. But…” Rocksteady paused in his reminiscing to let out a sigh. “Shredder caught on. Comrade Zeck was in middle of transferring data on new weapons Stockman was building back to his home country when he was killed, stabbed in back by that damn fish, Xever Montez. They come for me as well, but I escape. Have been openly organizing counterstrike against Shredder ever since.”

 “Hold up… Bebop was sending data to his ‘home country?’ You mean he wasn’t an American either?” April asked, arching a thin red eyebrow.

 “Nyet, not officially. He work in America a lot, had perfect urban accent. Could fool anyone to think he born and raised here. But, as far as I am knowing, was still citizen of France.”

 “ _France?!_ ” six teen voices echoed all at once, their mouths hanging agape in disbelief. Only Mikey seemed to be able to cut through his own shock at the statement to make further commentary.

 “Oh man, there’s such a joke in the making there! Okay, okay, check it out… A Russian rhino and a French warthog walk into a bar—“

 “ _Enough_.” The Colonel barked out, putting an end to his younger self’s inevitably offensive joke before it got started. He then returned his attention to the Russian General. “That’s the whole plan, then? We’ve got nothing else to fall back on?”

 “Afraid so, Comrade Hamato. Have not gotten new supplies from the Motherland since Shredder locked down Hudson Bay. Is best I can do.” Rocksteady replied, giving the turtle a somewhat apologetic look. The Colonel nodded.

 “Alright. We’ll just have to work with what we’ve got. Thank you, General Steranko. I’ll see you again when we rendezvous in the morning.” And with that, the Colonel began to lead the group back towards the door they’d entered through. Rocksteady called after them before they got too far away.

 “Wait! Is one more thing I am wanting to say to the young ones.”

 The six teens soon found themselves staring up at the old rhinoceros once more, a little unsure as to what was going on. Rocksteady stared at them all sternly.

 “You are from past, da? And you are planning on returning?”

 His answer was a nod from each of the young time travelers.

 “Then is something important you need to be remembering. In your time, Comrade Zeck and I may be working against the Shredder in secret, but is not meaning we can help you. As soon as you are going home, you must forget all you have learned of us two. If you give Shredder any hint that we are not being loyal to him, it will mean our deaths, and the failure of our missions. You will treat us as enemies again, and you will not mention anything about who we really are, even to us. That means, Comrade Michelangelo…” the rhino suddenly turned his gaze down solely on the youngest of the turtles, his eyes narrowing in warning. “ _No French jokes!_ ”

* * *

 

 

 The sun was low on the horizon when the group started back across the city towards the rebel base. Raphael clung reluctantly to the Colonel’s back once more, snapping his eyes shut so he didn’t have to watch the world rush by. The fact that the dimming evening light was making the obstacles in the road that much harder to see didn’t sit well with him, especially considering how close the adult turtle liked to cut it when he weaved around them. Oddly enough, the trip didn’t last long. They’d hardly gone more than a mile when Sergei shouted up to the front of the pack over the roar of the engines.

 “Colonel! I’ve got chatter on the radio! It’s the emergency frequency!”

 The Colonel immediately pulled off into the nearest alleyway, the other three motorcycles following suit. Raphael took the opportunity to enjoy a moment on solid ground as Sergei answered the radio proper.

 “Da, Batya. What’s happened?” he asked urgently into the mouthpiece of an old two-way radio. There was a crackle of static before Rocksteady’s gruff voice came booming out of the earpiece.

  _‘Footbot beacon detected! They’ve found your base, Comrades!’_

 “They _what?!_ ” The Colonel shouted, snatching the radio from Sergei’s grasp. “Warn them, dammit! Send out the evacuation order!”

  _‘Is already done, but you must come back here! The Bombers are already in the air and it won’t be long before—‘_

 But the rest of the General’s warning was drowned out by the deafening scream of engines overhead. Donatello looked up, expecting to see a squadron of fighter jets flying by overhead, if he went by the sound alone. What he saw instead was a fleet of large, black triangles. His blood felt as though it had turned to ice at the sight.

 “Th-those are _Triceraton_ ships!”

 “They’re Shredder’s Air Brigade. The Bombers.” Sergei explained coldly, staring after the alien crafts as they shot across the skies over Manhattan. “Baxter Stockman reverse-engineered them from the ones that had crashed here during the invasion. Most of Shredder’s forces are based on Triceraton technology anymore…”

 “Mike, no! You can’t go out there right now!”

 Everyone’s attention turned away from the Bombers when they heard Major O’Neil shouting. She had the Colonel’s arm held tight in both of hers, and was trying to keep him from getting back to his motorcycle.

 “Let go of me! I can’t just sit here and let everything be destroyed now! Not when we’re so close!”

 “But there’s nothing any of us can do! The evacuation order has already gone out! The only thing you’ll accomplish by rushing out there now is to get yourself killed for no reason! All we can do is sit and wait for them to report in once everything is over! They can take care of it, you just have to wait!”

 The Colonel stopped his struggling, but his fist was still clenched so hard at his side that it was shaking. The next minute passed by as though it had been years, but they eventually felt the tremors emanating through the ground as distant explosions rattled the entire area. Donatello could tell how hard Major O’Neil was struggling to keep the Colonel under control, to keep him from rushing off blindly into death. He also knew it must have been just as hard for her to sit there and wait. After all, her daughter was back at that base.

 Finally, after the rumbles subsided, the radio crackled to life once more.

  _‘Outpost Alpha to Colonel Hamato.’_

 “Report, Alpha. What’s the damage?” the Colonel ordered, clearly struggling to keep an even tone.

  _‘Evacuation was a success, but the base is just… gone.’_

 “Any casualties?”

 There was a slight pause before the reply came back.

_‘Four, sir. Simmons, Nguyen, Schultz, and…’_

 Another pause, and this time the man on the other end seemed reluctant to continue.

 “Finish your report, soldier. Who was the fourth?”

 A final pause, before…

  _‘I’m sorry, sir… We couldn’t get to the Professor in time...’_

 Major O’Neil could do nothing to control him now. The Colonel shoved her off of his arm and hopped onto his motorcycle, tearing off down the street as fast as he could go. Sergei cursed under his breath, grabbing the bike that Ortiz had been using and immediately taking chase after the rebel leader. The sun was nearly down under the horizon, and the faint orange glow of fire was starting to become evident ahead of them in the dimming light. The Colonel didn’t stop, _refused_ to stop, before he finally reached the site of the bombing. Huge tongues of flame licked at the sky from the charred remains of his base, the roaring blaze burning at his face even from this distance. He tossed his bike to the side, staring up at the inferno in utter horror.

 Everything. Everything he’d worked for in fifteen years, gone in an instant. He didn’t want to believe it. This couldn’t be real. This had to be some sort of a nightmare. He only had one thing left of his old life, of his family, and even _that_ had been taken from him now. His adrenaline surged at the thought of what still remained in the burning complex, who he had spent so long trying to keep safe. He was still in there.

 Sergei arrived just as the Colonel broke into a run towards the inferno. The Russian Major tossed his own motorcycle aside, sprinting as fast as he could to catch the turtle. He just barely managed to hook his arms around the crazed mutant’s torso, using every ounce of his strength to keep his commanding officer from running straight into death. The Colonel fought him the entire way.

 “Let _go_ of me! He’s still in there!”

 “There’s nothing you can do, Colonel! He’s _dead!_ We’ve got to get back to my father’s base before nightfall! The Swarm will be out soon!” Sergei argued, stubbornly keeping his hold on the other even as his heels dug into the asphalt. The turtle continued the struggle for a moment more, trying to shove the Major off of him, but the fight soon seemed to drain from his body. He collapsed to his knees as Sergei finally released him, letting him bury his face in his hand as he let out one last cry of despair.

 “ _Donnie!!_ ”


	6. The Suicide Mission

  The mood back at the Russian base was one of mixed apprehension and mourning. Everyone who had escaped the destruction of the rebel base was now crammed in the old warehouse along with Rocksteady’s soldiers. Tensions were running a bit high, but everyone managed to keep everything civil for the most part, if for no other reason than out of respect for the Colonel. The two commanding officers had been locked away in the General’s room ever since they managed to drag the rebel leader away from the burning ruins of his base. Most of the soldiers, American and Russian alike, were left to wonder amongst themselves what would become of their mission now that they’d taken such a heavy loss.

 The six visitors from the past weren’t in much higher spirits than all of those around them. Donatello had found himself a relatively quiet corner to curl up in, hugging his legs to his chest and hiding his face in his knees. He just wanted to be alone at the moment, just needed time to think. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like he would be getting that time.

 “Hey, D. You doin’ okay?”

 Donnie let out a low grumble as he felt the single last person he wanted to talk to sit down beside him.

 “Y’know what, Mikey? _No_. No, believe it or not, I’m _not_ doing okay!” he growled, raising his head to glare down at his baby brother next to him. “Ever since we’ve arrived in the future, literally _everything_ we’ve encountered has served to make me feel like complete crap! First, there’s the whole thing with Major O’Neil and her kid, then there’s the Professor’s madness, then Bishop, and now I’m _dead!_ Do you have any idea what that feels like, knowing your future self just died while you could only sit back and do nothing?! _No!_ In fact, I’d be surprised if you could sympathize with _any_ of this! After all, none of it would have happened if it wasn’t for the Col—“

 Donatello managed to cut off his angry ranting just as it started to slip into dangerous territory. Mikey remained silent through it all, his eyes cast down at the cold concrete floor beneath him. Donnie suddenly felt as though he’d spoken a bit out of turn. His baby brother had had it pretty rough himself in this place, though not in quite the same way. After all, if this hellish nightmare of a world was to be believed, he would grow up to be Colonel Michelangelo Hamato. Donatello could still remember how the other two future turtles had thought of him. One had called him a psychopath and refused to speak to him, the other had called him a monster and refused to even think of him as a brother anymore. He sometimes forgot that these hateful words were being directed at none other than Michelangelo himself. He’d been blamed for so much already. He didn’t need the Professor’s death on top of it.

 “I… I’m sorry, Mikey… I didn’t mean…” he reached out a hand to rest on the younger turtle’s shoulder, knowing he’d said something he really shouldn’t have. He half expected his baby brother to pull away in anger and storm off. Instead, he soon found his torso trapped in a tight hug, Michelangelo’s face buried against his chest.

 “M-Mikey..?” he asked hesitantly, wrapping his arms around the younger turtle’s shoulders. He could feel him trembling slightly in his light embrace.

 “D-don’t ever die, Donnie… I-I don’t wanna be left all alone like him…” Michelangelo managed to choke out against his older brother’s plastron, a small sob escaping with it. He was crying. Donatello let out a heavy sigh, pulling Mikey close and stroking the back of his head soothingly.

 “I’m not going anywhere, little brother… I promise…”

 

* * *

 

 

 Sergei sat at the large table in what amounted to the Russian’s command center, balancing precariously on the back legs of his chair with one foot against the edge of the table to keep him upright. He held a small silver device that looked as though it contained a glowing green liquid and was cleaning the surface idly, mostly for something to do with his hands as he awaited the final verdict of the mission. He didn’t bother looking up when he heard someone come up to stand at his side.

 “Red said ya wanted ta see me?” came the teen boy’s voice in a tone that really didn’t hint at much emotion. Sergei merely gestured to the seat across from him. He finally looked up as Casey Jones sat down in the offered seat.

 “You and I didn’t start off on a good note when we first met. I’d like to make sure we don’t _end_ on a bad one, if that’s okay with you.” He replied, though the conversation seemed to end with that for a while. After a long moment of awkward pause, Casey finally raised his voice.

 “Are you really gonna go out there and lure Shredder’s Bombers?”

 “If the mission’s still on, yes. Before you give me the same damn speech I’ve already heard a million times from April, you should know that it’s not a guarantee that I’ll be killed in the bombing strike. There’s still a chance I can outrun the explosions if I bring the right getaway vehicle. If I manage to make it out without being burnt to a crisp, I’ll be rejoining the main attack force for the final strike. Of course, that’s all assuming the plan still holds.”

 Casey merely replied with a small nod of his head. That certainly explained why Major O’Neil was willing to let him go at all, though he was sure she still wasn’t happy about it. Finally, he got curious enough to ask about something else.

 “What’s that ya got there?” he asked, gesturing to the small device in the Major’s hand.

 “This thing? It was one of the Professor’s inventions, a last-minute defense for back when Shredder still preferred to mutate his enemies rather than kill them outright. The idea was to load this small Mutagen capsule with the DNA of an animal of our choosing, and if we human soldiers were ever captured or risked getting mutated, we’d inject ourselves with it so we could at least become something of _our_ choosing rather than something the Shredder wanted. The choices are still pretty limited, but I lucked out a bit. My father still had this huge taxidermy polar bear back then, and the Professor managed to pull a DNA sample from its fur. Heh… Father always said that if I had to be a mutant, I may as well be something ‘big and strong like Russian bear.’”

 Sergei let out a small chuckle at the end of his explanation, slipping into a thick Russian accent there at that last bit for a fairly good impression of Rocksteady. Casey couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward in interest as he stared at the small injector device.

 “So, all the humans had one? What about me? What animal did I choose?”

 “A duck.”

 Casey’s nose wrinkled in distaste at that.

 “A _duck?!_ Why the hell would I pick a duck?!”

 Sergei let out another good-natured chuckle at the teen’s reaction to that.

 “Oh, come on… Talking anthropomorphic duck that plays hockey? Surely you get the reference. I don’t think you ever really intended to use it, anyway. You probably just did it for the joke.”

 Now that he thought about it, and now that he did indeed get the reference, he couldn’t help but let an amused smirk cross his face.

 “Hey, Sergei. You ever play hockey?” he asked suddenly. His answer was a sharp scoff.

 “I’m _Russian_ , kid. It’s practically a law that I play hockey.”

 “Did you and me ever play?”

 “Sure, plenty of times. Believe it or not, you and I were pretty good friends.” He replied, his blue eyes staring off into the distance for a moment as though he were looking into the past. Suddenly, he let the two front legs of his chair come down to rest on the floor, leaning forward a bit. “Hey, kid… I don’t suppose you’d mind telling me how you lost that front tooth of yours?”

 Casey’s lips suddenly spread into a wide grin at that, showing off that missing tooth without an ounce of shame.

 “Me, mind? You kiddin’? I love that story! It was back when I was still a freshmen. I managed to get on the varsity hockey team at school my first time out, and we made it all the way to the state finals that year. The last game was an away game against a school up in Buffalo, and man, it was so metal! Me and this one kid on the other team were goin’ at each other’s throats the whole game! He slammed me into the barrier so hard it knocked my tooth out, but I got the sucker back. Busted his eye open good the next time we came together on the ice. Oh man, it was _brutal!_ Me and him spent so much time in the penalty box that I think our ass-prints are still shellacked in the wood of the benches, and the second we got out, we were after each other again! Our team lost, but it was still the most fun I’ve ever had! I didn’t even care that the coach was bitching the whole ride back to New York. He never shut up about how it wasn’t fair that the other team was using an exchange student from Russ—“

 Casey ended his story abruptly, his eyes widening suddenly as he looked back up at Sergei. The Major was rubbing at a small scar just outside the corner of his eye, a fond smile on his face.

 “That was a good game, Jones. You played dirty as hell and I loved every second of it.”

 “N-no way…” Casey breathed out, still unable to believe it. Sergei nodded, his face suddenly taking on a somber expression.

 “I want to ask you a favor, Jones… When you get back to your time, I want you to look me up next time you’re in Buffalo. I’d sure as hell like to play you one last time…”

 

* * *

 

 

 Leonardo couldn’t stop himself from pacing back and forth in front of the General’s quarters. To say he was anxious was an understatement. Everything seemed to be falling apart around them. The Professor was dead, all of the rebels’ equipment destroyed, and their leader was beside himself with grief. Things had changed so quickly, it was hard to wrap his head around it all. One minute they had a plan, the next… Everything was in ashes.

 “Leonardo?”

 Leo jumped a bit as he heard his name being called out suddenly. He looked back at the door he’d been pacing in front of, spotting Major O’Neil as she poked her head out of the General’s room. She beckoned him in with a small wave of her hand. He didn’t hesitate, taking the invitation and immediately stepping into the room.

 The room was sparsely decorated, same as the officers’ quarters back at the Rebels’ base. Leo was a tad surprised. He’d have figured a collector of priceless items like Rocksteady would allow himself to be a bit less Spartan than the military norm, but this war must have made even the rhino have to tighten his belt. Said rhino was currently standing to the side with his massive arms folded across his chest, watching quietly as the young turtle made his way in. Leonardo had to resist the automatic impulse to draw his katana when he saw the Russian mutant, too used to being on the opposite side of conflict than him.

 Colonel Hamato was sitting at the end of the General’s bed, leaning forward with his elbow resting on his knee. His eyes stared down at nothing, his face blank and emotionless. Leonardo came to a stop in front of the older turtle, but did nothing more. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he _could_ say. Here was a man who had lost the only thing he’d had left that he’d held dear to him; his brother. What could he possibly do to make such a situation any less tragic?

 “Here’s the deal, kid…” came the Colonel’s voice. Or rather, what he _assumed_ to be the Colonel’s voice. It was so feeble and lifeless that Leo hardly recognized it at all. “Steranko’s men are preparing a jeep for Major O’Neil and her daughter to take out of New York. It leaves here in about an hour and I want you six kids to be on it when it does. I want you to go back over to Pennsylvania, to the Brotherhood of Serenity. Leonardo may not be willing to help in this last mission, but he and his organization aren’t in the habit of turning away refugees. You’ll stay there until you can figure out how to get back to your own time.”

 Leonardo could only stare in utter disbelief, a feeling of dread surging up within him.

 “Wait, you’re sending us away? Why?! What about the mission?!”

 “I don’t recall having ever invited you to come along on the mission in the first place.” He retorted, a bit of the command returning to his voice as his eyes drifted up to stare squarely into Leo’s own. The younger turtle could feel his fists ball up defiantly at his sides.

 “But we want to stay and fight at your side! We can’t just leave things like this! We can’t just run off and hide while all of you stay here and die!”

 “I’m afraid that’s exactly what you have to do. You six kids are from the past, and from a very sensitive moment in time on top of it all. If you die here, it will irreparably damage history and leave it changed forever.”

 “Yeah, well… knowing how it all turns out, is that such a bad thing?”

 The Colonel furrowed his brows at that, but he straightened his posture, giving the boy a hard, questioning look. Leonardo continued on.

 “Look, I know what happened earlier must’ve crushed you… I couldn’t imagine the way _I’d_ feel if I’d lost one of my brothers like that… But the fact is that, in a way, _we_ are your brothers, too. And real brothers don’t abandon each other at a time like this. Please, let us all fight together this one last time… as a _family_.”

 There was a long moment of silence that consisted mostly of the two turtles staring each other down, as though measuring one another’s resolve. The Colonel reached far back into his memories, thought back to a time when he was half his current age, a time when he suddenly found himself standing on the bridge of a spaceship and had to watch as his home planet was swallowed up by a black hole. He remembered the moment when these kids, his former self included, were supposedly plucked out of their time and brought here. He didn’t remember anything like that himself, but he remembered what had come next, what Professor Honeycutt, the Fugitoid, had rescued them to do. If these six kids died here in this dismal future, the Earth would have remained destroyed forever, along with everyone on its surface. A cynical smile spread over the Colonel’s face. In a way, if these kids died here, it will have been as an indirect result of a decision he himself had made that will have brought an end to the Shredder once and for all, and fifteen years sooner than he could do on his own. He will have had the last laugh, bittersweet though it may be.

 And this war of his would never have been started.

 “Alright.”

 Leonardo’s eyes widened a bit when the Colonel finally gave his answer. Wait… Had he heard that right? He would let them stay? Just like that? The Colonel seemed to pick up on his thoughts, and explained himself a bit.

 “It’s stupid, it’s crazy, and it’s a complete lost cause… But, if I recall correctly, that’s just the type of guy I’ve always been. Que sera, sera. Come what may, at least we gave it our all… And at least we could say we stood together.”

 The Colonel stood up, turning his gaze to Rocksteady.

 “Let’s gather the troops together, General. I’ve got a few things I need to say to everyone before we get to work.”

 

* * *

 

 

 The entire base seemed to grind to a halt and look up when Rocksteady’s bellowing order to ‘fall in’ to formation rang throughout the warehouse. Every soldier, rebel and Russian alike, gathered together in neat rows, all eyes trained on the two commanding officers standing before them. The rhino gave the turtle a nod of his head, officially turning the reins over to him. The Colonel leapt up to stand on top of a table so he could see every face in the crowd. No need to ask them to lend him their ears. He had their full, undivided attention. He began in an even tone, though he spoke in such a way that his voice carried throughout the all-but-silent warehouse without him having to shout.

 “The Shredder has struck a deep blow on us tonight, but we cannot let it deter us. We have nowhere left to run after this, but that only means that our mission is that much more vital. You may have heard rumors among you that what we are trying to do here is suicide. I won’t lie to you; it is. We stand virtually no chance for success against the enemy’s endless horde, but so long as there exists even a _fleeting_ chance for victory, I plan to fight on to my last breath. If anyone here does not feel that this fight is worth your life, I ask you to leave now.”

 He looked out over the crowd of soldiers, watching for any sign of movement. Not one man or woman budged, their faces set in steadfast determination. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Loyal to the end. That made him rather proud. He then cast a glance to the side, off to where the six teens from the past had stood to watch. Their eyes reflected the same courage and the same stubbornness as the soldiers. There would be no talking them out of it, either. He turned back to the soldiers, his tone growing a bit in intensity.

 “As of tonight, it doesn’t matter if you’re American or Russian, we are _all_ a family. Come the dawn, my brothers and sisters, we will storm the gates of Shredder’s palace, we will paint his twisted throne red with his own blood, and we will take back our city!”

 This final declaration of battle was answered by several hundred fists being raised into the air, a resounding ‘Oo rah!’ erupting from the crowd. The Colonel jumped down from his tabletop perch, and Rocksteady dismissed the gathered soldiers with another bellowing order. As everyone dispersed to get back to their duties, the rebel leader made his way over to Major O’Neil. She held out an old, battered tPhone.

 “How’s the signal?” he asked in a low voice.

 “Stable. If they’re listening, they’ll have gotten the whole thing.”

 The Colonel nodded, taking the tPhone and holding it close in front of his face as he spoke.

 “Alright, this is probably the last time you two are ever gonna hear my voice, so you’d better listen up. Don is _dead_. Blame me for his death all you want, I don’t care anymore. Just remember that it was the _Shredder_ that pulled the trigger, not me. I’m only going to ask you one more time – after this you can both bite me… Please, come back. If not for me, then at least to avenge Don. You already know the time and place, whether you actually come is up to you. If you have any scrap of self-respect left in those sorry shells of yours, you’ll be here. If not… I’ll be waiting for you two jackasses in Hell.”

 

* * *

 

 

 Two robed, hooded figures sat across from each other, their legs folded neatly underneath them. Between them, laying on the cold polished stone, was an old tPhone. The two figures continued to stare down at the device long after the last echoes of the Colonel’s voice faded away. Finally, the more petite of the pair looked up at the other.

 “Brother Zatoichi, should we not—“ she began, but her words were cut off when the robed mutant turtle rose a peremptory hand.

 “All is as it should be, Sister.” Zatoichi replied calmly, seemingly unmoved by the rebel leader’s final plea. That didn’t seem to sit well with the woman.

 “But they are delivering themselves right to death’s door. They’re sure to be _slaughtered_.” She retorted. When that didn’t seem to provoke a response, she added earnestly, “He is your _brother_.”

 Zatoichi sat there for a long moment, not a muscle twitching as he seemed to consider everything his companion was saying to him. Finally, he rose gracefully to his feet.

 “None of this changes anything. It is vital that we continue along the path we have set for ourselves. Nothing, not even Donatello’s and Michelangelo’s deaths, should be allowed to pull forth hasty actions from our Brotherhood.”

 And with that, Brother Zatoichi bowed his head to the woman and left for his private chambers. The Sister was left there to stare at the abandoned tPhone. Even she was helpless in the face of the eldest turtle’s unyielding will.

 

* * *

 

 

 The Seraphim sat alone for what felt like hours, staring down at the old tPhone in his hand. So, this was it, huh? This was Mike’s now-or-never moment, and even in the end he was still reaching out, trying to get his two eldest brothers on his side. Ever the baby brother, always looking up to them for help. That bastard spouted a lot of rhetoric, but underneath it all, had he really changed all that much? For that matter, what did Mike look like anymore? It had been, what? Six years since they’d last met face to face? They hadn’t parted on the best of terms then. Casey practically had to pry the two apart with a crowbar, they were at each other’s throats so bad. He hadn’t heard much about Casey since then either. Hadn’t heard much of _anything_ since then. He hadn’t been listening.

 So what had made him listen tonight of all nights? Surely he didn’t have some crumb of sentiment left for that crazy bastard of a brother of his. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

 “Dammit, Mikey…” Seraphim growled under his breath, his grip on the tPhone tightening slightly.

 “Are ya gonna go fight with ‘em?”

 The large turtle looked up when the voice of a child addressed him suddenly. Gabriel stood before him, his dark eyes seeming to bore right into him. Seraphim stared right back, his one green eye fixed on the current eldest of the Lost Boys in his care.

 “What’s it to ya, kid?” he grumbled out, trying his best to sound disinterested. The boy didn’t seem terribly convinced.

 “He’s your brother, ain’t he? Ain’t you always tellin’ us that we’re all brothers, and that brothers are s’posed ta stick together no matter what? How come you ain’t with _your_ brothers no more?”

 Seraphim let out a small growl, his teeth grinding a bit on the toothpick sticking out of the corner of his mouth. This kid sure did know how to push the right buttons. He was hitting a bit too close to home for the turtle’s liking.

 “It ain’t as simple as all that with us, Gabe… It’s complicated. A kid like you wouldn’t understand.”

 “Yeah, well… Us kids understand more than you think, y’know. We understand that you been starin’ at that phone thing for like an hour now because you don’t know if you should go help or not. We think you should. You can’t just let your brother fight the baddies all on his own. You’ll never forgive yourself if he dies out there without you.”

 At that, Seraphim suddenly rose to his feet, causing Gabriel to take a startled half-step back. He towered over the boy, intentionally trying to make himself seem as intimidating as possible.

 “Go the hell to bed, Gabriel. I ain’t havin’ this conversation right now, especially with a ten year old.”

 “But—“

 “ _Go!_ ” he barked out forcefully. The boy scrambled away, ducking under the tarp and into the Lost Boy’s half of the abandoned subway car. He heard several soft shuffling sounds from behind the ragged sheet as the other children rushed to their beds. He waited for the sounds to cease before staring down at the tPhone in his hand once more. Would it be worth it, abandoning these children to go fight in his mad brother’s pointless war? Could he ever forgive himself if anything happened to these kids while he was gone? And would he regret it more than having abandoned his own brother to die?

 Eventually, all he could do was let out a roar of utter frustration, throwing the tPhone against the wall with such force that it instantly shattered into pieces.

 

* * *

 

 

 No moon shone in the dark December sky, only the twinkling of thousands of stars. None of the six teens from the past could ever remember having seen so many stars out, even in the darkest of nights. The lights of New York had always drowned them out to near nothingness. Now, there were no lights to interfere. The galaxy shone above their heads like fine, sparkling dust against the deep void of space. It seemed to be the only scrap of beauty this devastated world had left to offer.

 The soldiers gathered outside the Russian base in complete silence, only the serene sounds of the empty Hudson River nearby to assure the lot of them that they hadn’t spontaneously gone deaf. The silence was a necessity. The Footbots worked mostly by sound from a distance. One misstep, one dropped bullet casing, and they’d be faced with the Swarm in minutes.

 Colonel Hamato helped Sergei load the bulky beacon transmitter into the sidecar of his old motorcycle, strapping it securely in so it wouldn’t be damaged in transit. The two exchanged final salutes before the Colonel made his way to the head of the group making up the ground forces. A silent motion of the mutant’s hand gave the signal to move forward.

 Five turtles, two human teens, and a couple hundred Russian and rebel soldiers stalked through the dark, deserted streets of New York, moving slowly, deliberately, their boots barely making a sound against the crumbling asphalt beneath them. The soldiers remained alert, holding their rifles at the ready in case a Footbot leapt out at them from the darkness. After they had put considerable distance between themselves and the base at the docks, the Colonel could be seen taking a small black radio from his belt. He pressed a button and returned it to its pouch. Within seconds, they heard the distant roar of a motorcycle engine as it rumbled to life, then it soon began to fade off into the distance. There was some movement around them, and everyone in the ragtag regiment instantly froze in place. Footbot scouts that hadn’t taken notice of the stalking group below suddenly scrambled across walls and rooftops with their spider-like motions, all heading after this new sound of human activity. Casey’s jaw clenched a bit when he realized what was happening. Sergei wasn’t just being used as bait for the Bombers, but the whole bloody _Swarm_. He pulled his hockey mask down over his face, continuing on once the soldiers started moving once more.

 

* * *

 

 

 Sergei thundered down the street after he’d gotten the signal from the Colonel, pushing his old Dnepr as fast as it would go. The signal meant that the ground forces were a half-hour’s march from Shredder’s fortress. He didn’t have much time to get his part of the mission ready.

 As he rode off in the opposite direction that the others had gone, he soon began hearing the occasional sound of rubble being knocked down to the street from one of the buildings he’d passed. Good, the Footbots were following him. They wouldn’t be able to keep up with him on the bike, but he knew they’d catch up once he came to a stop. He just had to work quickly, then.

 Sergei soon pulled into what remained of Central Park, his motorcycle jolting as it made the transition from asphalt to rough, untamed underbrush. He hopped off his bike just before it had come to a complete stop, dashing around to pull the beacon transmitter from the sidecar. He set the heavy device down in a patch of bare soil, stomping the anchor pins into the dirt to keep it stable. He could already hear movement in the foliage around him; leaves brushing against fabric, the sharp snap of a twig being stepped on. He cursed under his breath. They shouldn’t have caught up with him this quickly.

 He rushed to prepare the transmitter, powering it on and flicking the appropriate switches. He could hear the Footbots drawing nearer as he worked. They sounded as though they were circling mere feet from him as he made one last check to assure he’d dialed in the right frequency. He slammed the ‘transmit’ button before turning on his heel, drawing his revolvers from the holsters at his hips. Several pairs of glowing orange optics were already staring out at him from the darkness, surrounding him from all directions. His hands tightened around the grips of his guns. It looked like he wouldn’t be making it back after all. Still, that didn’t mean he would be going down without a fight. His thumbs pulled back the hammers of his revolvers as the screech of sawblades began to ring in his ears.

 “Come get some, you mechanical sons of bitc—!“

 

* * *

 

 

 The ground forces came to a stop when the roads did, and they soon found themselves looking out over a vast swath of land that had been completely cleared of everything. There were no buildings, not even the remains of buildings, just bare ground. The only structures that remained in this strange patch of orderly desolation were the long, wide runways used by the Bombers, and the gargantuan tower in the center that could only be Shredder’s stronghold. Even as the blackness of the sky slowly gave way to a dark blue hue, they could already see the crest of the Foot Clan displayed prominently on the front of the tower.

 They waited there for agonizing minutes, every pair of eyes fixed on the black diamonds parked on the runway before them, the repurposed Triceraton fleet that could destroy the lot of them in an instant if only they knew they were lurking there. After what seemed like ages, orange lights glittered across the surfaces of the Bombers’ hulls, and they instantly rocketed down the runway and into the sky. The crafts cut through the air mere meters above their heads, and the six teens ducked down low as the Bombers screamed past overhead. The Colonel hadn’t ducked. In fact, he hadn’t moved an inch from where he stood just beyond the edge of that runway, as though defiant of the fleet and their deadly payload. Once the Bombers were on their way, the Colonel raised his radio to his lips.

 “Bombers in the air. The stage is yours, General.” He relayed in an even tone. He then stood there, staring out across the empty runway at the impenetrable tower that represented his greatest enemy, his gaze hard as the steel that made up that dark fortress. April approached the rebel leader hesitantly, not daring to step over the edge into Shredder’s territory just yet.

 “How’s Rocksteady supposed to get us in? Where is he?” she asked quietly, but she got no reply. The Colonel continued to stare forward as though she’d never spoken.

 Soon, the answer came in another way. She could hear the sound of helicopter blades approaching quickly from the direction of the river. A moment later, a huge armored gunship emerged from over the buildings behind them, gaining speed as it began its approach along the Bomber’s own runway. April shot a questioning look up at the Colonel.

 “But how’s that going to help? I thought you said that helicopter didn’t have working weapons anymore!”

 “It doesn’t.” was the soft reply from the elder turtle. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion, and she looked back towards the black gunship once more. It was flying so low that its belly practically skimmed the surface of the runway below, and it gave no hint at the intent to pull up. April’s eyes widened when she realized what it was that the mutant rhino intended to do. She opened her mouth to protest to the Colonel, but a crackle over the radio cut her off.

  _‘Was pleasure serving with you… Even if you are turtle freak.’_ Came Rocksteady’s eerily calm voice over the radio, a note of the sardonic carrying through even in this last message. _‘Do svidaniya, Comrade Hamato…’_

 April couldn’t help but cover her mouth in shock, unable to look away as the Russian General’s helicopter slammed with full force into the front of Shredder’s tower, erupting into a violent fireball that they could feel even from this far distance. She finally managed to tear her eyes away from the grizzly scene long enough to look up at the Colonel once more. He merely stared out across the runway, steely-eyed as ever. He stood so motionless, she almost wondered if he was as blind as Brother Zatoichi had been, if he could really see the carnage before his eyes. Those fears were dispelled once she heard the turtle speak, his voice coming in barely a whisper.

 “Do svidaniya, Comrade Steranko…”


	7. When a Good Man Goes to War

 The combined army of Russians and rebels stampeded down the runway once Rocksteady’s helicopter came crashing into the front of Shredder’s fortress. All pretense of remaining silent was abandoned, stealth becoming obsolete in this vast no-man’s land. The runway was a little more than a mile long, but they intended to close the gap between themselves and the enemy as quickly as their feet would carry them.

 Colonel Hamato ran at the head of the pack, his kama in his hand, two younger turtles flanking him on either side, their weapons drawn as well. Leonardo couldn’t help but scan the desolate land with his eyes, a creeping sense of dread rising up inside him. Why did this all seem too easy?

 “Eyes front! They’re coming!” The Colonel barked out suddenly, snapping Leo’s attention back into the moment. He looked towards Shredder’s tower once more, spotting several dozen pairs of flitting fireflies in the distance. Footbots, almost a hundred of them. The young ninja’s grip tightened around the hilts of his katana. This was it.

 The Footbots were much faster than they were and closed the distance between themselves and the attacking army within a minute. The Turtles had to be careful not to stray in the path of friendly bullets as the soldiers opened fire, the rattle of rifle shots ringing in their ears as they raised their weapons for the inevitable clash.

 There was a screech of sawblades as the Footbots met the advancing force. Leonardo tried to put a majority of the chaos around out of his mind as he slashed out at one of the deadly robots with careful, calculated strikes. The Colonel had told him what to aim for, and he couldn’t afford to miss his mark at a time like this. His katana sliced through the torso of the nearest robot, through the glowing power core hidden in its chest. Another came, and he cut this one down as well. He barely managed to parry a sawblade in time as it came buzzing towards his neck, kicking the enemy back before stabbing it through the chest.

 Leo chanced a look up when he had a moment. His brothers were holding their own against the attack, each managing to strike at the Footbot’s weak point now that they knew what they were aiming for. Well, all but one. Mikey seemed to struggle to take out any of the robots that had gotten a lock on him, his nunchaku unable to pierce through the armor plating protecting the Footbots’ power cores. Even the blade of his kusarigama wasn’t long enough to do much. The youngest of the turtles only managed to take any of them out if he’d happened to lead them in the path of rifle fire. He seemed to have taken notice of this little setback of his, sticking close to the soldiers behind them.

 Mikey had retreated to stand next to one of the rebels when several Footbots managed to break through the front lines of mutants to the human forces behind, and what followed could only be described as a bloodbath. Individual streams of gunfire came to an abrupt end as the deadly robots sliced through flesh and bone indiscriminately. Michelangelo managed to dodge one sawblade as it came slashing down from above, but a scream sounded in his ear, a spray of something warm splattering against the side of his face. He tried not to think about what it must be, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking. A Footbot turned its attention to the young turtle as it pulled its bloody sawblade from where it had been buried halfway into the rebel’s skull, a distorted look of anguish frozen on the dead soldier’s bifurcated face. Mikey could do nothing but stare in shock even as the robot lunged at him.

 “Move, dammit!” came the barking order as the scythe-like blade of a kama slashed the attacking Footbot in two. Mikey then felt the Colonel’s strong arm hook around his waist before he was more or less tossed off to the side. The older turtle just barely managed to turn back in time to slash through another attacking Footbot, kicking the remains away before attempting to put himself between the remaining enemies and the soldiers he’d led into this battle. Mikey was still staring wide-eyed after his future self when he felt a pair of arms pull him up to his feet.

 “C’mon, Mikey! Snap out of it!” Raph growled as he hoisted his baby brother off the ground. Michelangelo’s brain seemed to finally click back on, and he hastily wiped the blood from his face as though he’d just realized it was there.

 “Th-this is _crazy_ , dude! There’s too many of ‘em, and my weapons don’t do jack!” he whined helplessly. Leonardo joined his two brothers in time to cut down another Footbot before it reached them.

 “It’ll be okay, Mikey. We’ve almost got ‘em all.” The eldest brother assured, flipping his off-hand katana around and shoving the hilt into the youngest turtle’s hand. Mikey stared down at the sword he now held, his eyes darting up to the leader again.

 “Leo, I can’t—“

 “Sure you can! Master Splinter taught _all_ of us kendo! You know how to use it!” he shouted back over his shoulder as he charged the next robot, his stance having changed dramatically now that he only wielded one blade. Mikey’s grip on the hilt tightened, knowing that this new chance at fighting came at the cost of splitting his own brother’s arsenal by half.

 “Uhh… Guys? We’ve got a problem…”

 “What is it _now_ , Donn—“

 Raphael cut himself off when he turned to see what Donatello was talking about. He found himself staring towards the Shredder’s fortress, watching as a sea of bright orange optics shone through the dim pre-dawn light as they surged out of the building. More Footbots. _Hundreds_ of them. The four brothers ran back to where the Colonel was finishing off the last of the initial wave.

 “Dude, there’s more of ‘em! What do we do?!” Mikey asked his future self frantically, pointing back towards the new foe swarming towards them. It wasn’t _the_ Swarm, of course. These new Footbots numbered only in the hundreds rather than the thousands. Unfortunately, that would be enough to overwhelm them. The Colonel looked back at what remained of his army. Only half were left fit to fight. The rest either had serious injuries or were outright dead. He wondered how long the remainders would be willing to continue like this.

 As if the approaching robots weren’t bad enough, the Colonel soon heard the last noise he’d wanted to hear at the moment. The scream of alien jet engines tore through the sky above, a fleet of black diamonds making a wide arc around the area as they prepared a bombing approach that wouldn’t damage their own base. Colonel Hamato could only stare up at them in despair, his hand tightening on the grip of his kama. Dammit… And here he thought he’d have more time before the Bombers returned.

 “Looks like I’ll be seeing you again real soon, Don…” he whispered bitterly under his breath as he watched his doom approach.

 Suddenly, a bright blue beam of light flashed across the sky, sweeping along the line of approaching Bombers. The Colonel watched in utter bewilderment as the old Triceraton ships began plummeting out of the sky, hitting the ground with tremendous force, carving out huge trenches in the land and tossing up dirt and debris. The lot of them had to make a mad dash backwards as one of the Bombers crashed nearby, coming to a tearing halt right across the runway in front of them. A murmur of confusion broke out from the crowd of stunned soldiers, and the adult mutant turtle couldn’t help but echo the sentiment in his mind. Just what the hell was going on here?!

 “ _Colonel!_ ”

  Colonel Hamato immediately spun around to stare back across the runway when he heard the all-too-familiar voice calling for him. However, that simply couldn’t be. After all, this was the voice of a dead man. Sure enough, though his mind told him that it wasn’t possible, his eyes watched in astonishment as Sergei rode towards them in his banged up old Dnepr. Of course, that was only the tip of the iceberg. Even more impossible than the Russian Major having survived his task was the man – no, the _turtle_ – standing in the sidecar as the motorcycle rocketed down the runway from the direction of the city. There was a glint of light reflecting off the lens of a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, the white fabric of a lab coat billowing around his thin frame, and a strange device strapped to his back that would have made the Ghostbusters jealous. Even more telling than all that was the wide grin on the thin turtle’s face, a distinct gap showing between his two front teeth.

 “ _Donnie!_ ” the Colonel called out, unable to stop the smile that spread across his face. He was alive! He didn’t know how, and quite frankly he didn’t give a damn right now. All that mattered was that the Professor, his dear brother, was still alive. He was so stunned by this revelation that he hadn’t thought of anything to say when Sergei brought the motorcycle to a stop in front of him. The Professor climbed clumsily out of the sidecar, quickly righted himself, then held up the beam projector appendage of his strange invention with that triumphant grin still plastered across his gaunt face.

 “Ladies and gentlemen, I have officially invented the Heisenberg Compensator! Montgomery Scott, eat your heart out!” he announced proudly. He wasn’t sure if the open-mouthed stares of awe were for his invention or the fact that he was alive and quite clearly not catatonic any longer, but he decided he’d take it as a compliment either way. The Colonel managed to sum up the group’s feelings rather eloquently.

 “W-wait, how did you..? What is that supposed to..? _What the hell is going on here?!_ ”

 The Professor held up a single finger to stop his younger brother’s confused blithering.

 “Can’t talk now. Footbots are still a thing. Sergei, would you mind giving me a boost?”

 Sergei quickly obliged the Professor’s request, helping the thin turtle climb up on top of the downed Triceraton Bomber that they’d been standing behind. When the Russian Major returned his gaze to the others, he found himself face to face with Colonel Hamato.

 “You! Explanations! _Now!_ ”

 Sergei held up his hands helplessly, taking a step back from the rather excitable rebel leader.

 “I had no idea he was still alive, I swear! I found him in Central Park after I activated the beacon. Or rather, he found _me_. I was about to be slaughtered by the Swarm, but then he took out the whole lot of them with that device of his. That thing just shuts them all down as soon as the beam passes over their power cores. He told me on the way here what had happened. After you brought Bishop’s package to him, something just lined up in his mind again and he knew exactly what he had to do. He slipped out of the base about an hour before the Bombers hit and headed back to your old Lair in the sewers.”

 The Colonel listened to the story in complete disbelief. The Professor had just slipped out without anyone noticing? He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Sergei interrupted.

 “Look, that’s not all, Colonel. I found someone else on my way back here…”

 And the Colonel’s next question was answered before he had the chance to ask it. The roar of a second engine approached quickly from the far end of the runway, a battered red motorcycle coming to a stop in front of them. A large mutant turtle climbed off, brushing the dirt off the sleeve of his brown leather jacket. A single green eye met the Colonel’s baby blue ones.

 “ _Raph?!_ ” he barked out in surprise. The Seraphim answered with a cockeyed smirk, taking the toothpick out of the corner of his lips and tossing it aside.

 “Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too, ya crazy son of a bitch.” He replied in a low grumble. His smirk soon disappeared as he got the chance to look his baby brother over for the first time in years.

 “Jesus Christ, Mike! What the fuck happened to your arm?!”

 

* * *

 

 

 Donatello had climbed up on top of the downed Bomber shortly after the Professor had, eager to finally have a proper word with his future self. The older turtle was busy at work, directing the blue beam of his strange invention across the advancing horde of Footbots. Each robot seemed to collapse immediately upon being touched by the beam, the lights of their optics vanishing instantaneously. Donnie was amazed. Had this been what all of those endless equations were intended to make?

 “Professor, what _is_ this thing? What’s it doing to the Footbots?” he asked, not quite understanding just by looking. The Professor’s grin returned to his face, as though elated to have the chance to explain one of his inventions to someone who would actually know the science behind it.

 "Well, we needed a way to deal with Shredder's robot Swarm in huge quantities at once without having to worry about fighting every last one. Mike originally wanted something to neutralize the Triceraton power cores inside the robots, but the crystalline structure inside the power packs were too volatile to try something like that without a massive explosion taking us out with it. So, I thought 'hey, why not use teleportation?' This thing is essentially a teleportation gun keyed into the exact atomic structure of the Triceraton's power source. I was looking over my equations again when one of them just jumped out at me! I don't even remember writing it! Once it all made sense, I was able to MacGyver this bad boy together in a couple of hours!"

 Donatello’s brow furrowed at that explanation. An equation he didn’t remember writing had made it all make sense? He couldn’t help but glance over just as Mikey joined them atop the felled Bomber, a look of wonder in his eyes as he watched the robots fall one after another. No, it couldn’t be… The Professor _couldn’t_ be referring to that little scribble in the corner of his room that Raphael had caught Michelangelo writing before they left that white cell. What could that goofball have possibly written that his own future self couldn’t figure out in more than five years?!

 Donatello shook the absurd thought from his head, turning his eyes up to examine the device strapped to the Professor’s back. It looked like his usual hodge-podge of scavenged components, though the most prominent feature seemed to be the massive Triceraton power core at its center, the glowing stripes of energy inverted from the normal orange to a bright blue. So that’s what Bishop was trying to bring him? Was that what allowed him to dial into the atomic structure of the normal Triceraton power cores? Then, remembering what the device was supposed to do, he posed another question to the taller turtle.

 "So it teleports just the power cell energy and nothing more… But where are you teleporting the power cells to?" he asked. The answer was an utterly amused chuckle.

 "A point in space about twelve hundred and fifty parsecs away, all concentrated into an area about the size of a pencil eraser. It'll keep on getting denser and hotter the more robots I take out. Don't worry, it won't get dense enough to form a black hole, but it'll sure create one hell of a gravity well for nearby gasses! If you see a new star pop up near the Lagoon Nebula sometime in the next few million years, make sure they name it after me!"

 Donatello couldn’t stop a smile of admiration from spreading across his face.

 "Professor, that's… That’s _genius!_ How did you even get the idea for something like that?"

 "Easy! It simply occurred to me one day that the _Triceratons_ have teleporters. If they could make it work, there must be _some_ way around the Uncertainty Principal. I just extrapolated from there!"

 The familiar phrase ‘the Triceratons have teleporters’ rang in Donatello’s ears for a moment, his eyes widening. Once again, he found himself looking back at Michelangelo. This time, it seemed the younger turtle had been paying attention to their discussion, as he quickly flashed Donnie what was clearly an I-told-you-so smirk, a knowing look in those big baby blues. The lanky teen couldn’t help but let his jaw hang open for a long moment.

 “You gotta be kidding me…”

 

* * *

 

 

 The charge resumed as soon as the Professor finished deactivating the robot horde, mutants and humans alike bursting with a renewed sense of hope now that it seemed they had victory within grasp. They rushed through the massive hole that Rocksteady had made in the wall of the fortress. As they climbed inside over the smoldering rubble, Sergei lingered behind a moment. He stared at the charred, mangled remains of his father’s helicopter, his fists clenching lightly at his sides. He bowed his head, muttered a quick word of prayer in their native Russian, and gave the wreckage one final salute before running off to rejoin the rest of the troops.

 The Colonel led the way deep into the fortress, two of his three brothers at his sides for the first time in almost a decade. There was only one person missing now. He scoffed bitterly to himself in his own mind. Leo was the last person he’d expect to see out here. He wasn’t about to hold his breath waiting for him. Once they made their way to what appeared to be the main chamber of the building, the Colonel allowed them to stop. He then turned to Sergei and the rest of the soldiers.

 “I want you all to scour the building. Find Baxter Stockman and put a bullet between his eyes.” He ordered, and the soldiers immediately dispersed. The three adult mutants and the six teens from the past were then left in that vast chamber alone. Well, perhaps not entirely alone. The Colonel stared forward along the dark steel of the fortress interior, up at what seemed to be a large, Japanese-style screen door, an elaborate ink painting of a dragon covering its surface. The door slid open, and a man in black and purple stepped out, his face hidden behind the mask of a heavy steel helm.

 “You have too much sympathy for your men, _Colonel Hamato_.” Came the deep bellow of the ninja master before them, the last two words spat out as though they were foul-tasting filth. “Sending them away will be the last mistake you ever make.”

 All nine tensed as though a chilling blast of wind had hit them, each of them clutching tightly at their weapons as they stared across the room into the uncaring eyes of Oroku Saki. The Colonel bared his teeth in a savage smile.

 “Don’t get too Freudian on me, Shredder. _You’re_ the one that’s sent all of your robots out to the slaughter. Or haven’t you noticed that you’re all alone now? We have you outnumbered, and I don’t plan on leaving here until I have your head, _with_ or _without_ your body.”

 The Shredder’s eyes narrowed glaringly at the rebel leader.

 “Foolish boy…” was his only answer to such an insult. The Shredder then gave a sharp snap of his fingers. Moments later, four huge, grotesque creatures stalked out from the shadows around them, occasional bits of gleaming metal surfacing between hideously over-mutated flesh. The creatures hissed and snapped at the group of intruders, stalking forward on all fours. What little traces of human consciousness they’d had left was wiped out by the mechanical implants buried in their temples.

 Leonardo’s eyes stared wide at the four creatures as he took a hesitant step back, his katana held defensively in front of him. These creatures, these mutant monsters… He _recognized_ them. One looked skeletal, its black fur hardened into millions of tiny needles all over its body, hollow eyes staring out at them from dark, empty sockets. It only vaguely retained a canine shape anymore. The next creature looked like something one would dredge up out of the deep sea’s darkest nightmares. Its scales were like armor grown green with corrosion, its mouth hanging open with the weight of countless huge, dagger-like teeth like those of an angler fish, its eyes glazed over an opaque white. The creature next to it sported gargantuan claws, its massive muscles rippling beneath a patchwork of silver and black striped fur, two huge canine teeth visible on either side of its powerful jaws, a single crimson eye staring hungrily at them. The last was a creature of warped, almost rotten looking flesh, as though it had been exhumed from a shallow grave before being dumped into the Mutagen once more. It bore fierce looking tusks, purple circuitry still glowing under the surface of its pale skin, a tuft of purple mane running down its back.

 “Rahzar… Fishface… Tiger Claw… Bebop…” the young ninja leader breathed out, unable to believe his eyes. “Wh-what did Stockman _do_ to them?!”

 But Leonardo received no answer. He spotted Seraphim giving the Professor a quick sidelong glance.

 “Don, go hide somewhere.” He rumbled out in a low voice. The Professor shot the larger turtle an indignant look.

 “Hide?! Why should _I_ hide? Wasn’t the idea for all of us to fight _together?_ ”

 “Oh, fer the love of… Don, if you didn’t have yer shell on, ya’d be a hundred pounds soakin’ wet. You ain’t in no shape to be fighting.” Seraphim retorted. The Professor seemed to puff his chest out at this accusation, as though trying to prove it wrong.

 “Are you kidding? I feel fine! Never bett—ack!” but the scrawny turtle’s assurances were cut off when the warped mutant warthog came charging at him. He managed to dive away just in time to avoid getting trampled, scrambling over to hide behind a large pillar.

 “O-on second thought, I’ve always considered fighting to be overrated!”

 Chaos erupted throughout the vast chamber. The other three mutant beasts charged forward, attacking the nearest enemy to them. Tiger Claw dashed in front of Seraphim, cutting him off from his attempt at rushing to the Professor’s aid. The great white tiger let out a thunderous roar, swiping at the one-eyed turtle with its massive claws. Seraphim ducked under the blow with so little room to spare that the tails of his mask were slashed in half. He brought his sai up as he rose again, burying the blade into the beast’s arm. Tiger Claw gave another roar, thrashing to free himself from his attacker. The turtle found himself being thrown across the room, his shell slamming so hard against the wall that it made a sizable dent on impact. He stood up unsteadily, shaking the ringing from his ears as he raised his weapons once more.

 “Oh, so yer a big tough pussy cat now, ain’t ya? Well, gimmie yer worst, you sorry sonnova bitch!” Seraphim roared, rushing the hulking mutant once more.

 

* * *

 

 

 The Colonel had to be swift to dodge his opponent’s lunging strikes. He knew at a glance that letting himself come into contact with the thousands of needles that Rahzar’s fur had become would mean a world of pain for him. He held his kama up in front of his face for some measure of defense, but he could do little more than avoid being touched at the moment. He cursed under his breath. If only he still had his other arm, perhaps he could make some sort of counterstrike. But lamenting over what might have been was useless, and he knew it. He also knew that fighting Rahzar wasn’t entirely necessary. He chanced a quick glance past the skeletal canine, at his real opponent. If only he could get past, if only he could get at Shredder himself, he didn’t care what else happened.

 

* * *

 

 

 The six teens from the past had attracted the attention of the final beastly mutant. The abyssal Fishface snapped at the scattering group, aiming to shred any one of them with his monstrous rows of huge teeth. Mikey let out a yelp when the fish’s jaws came snapping a bit too close to his tail for comfort.

 “Dudes! A little help?!” the youngest of the turtles called out desperately, diving to the side just as the creature made another lunge at him. Leonardo and Raphael managed to flank the fish mutant on either side, thrusting the blades of their weapons into their opponent’s sides. Unfortunately, both Leo’s katana and Raph’s sais seemed to bounce back off of the armored scales covering the beast’s body, not leaving a scratch.

 “What the heck is this guy made of?!” Raphael growled after another failed attempt at stabbing the damned monster.

 “Yo, look out!”

 Raph heard the call just in time to jump away from where he ran alongside Fishface, narrowly avoiding getting hit by several of Casey’s pucks as they exploded against the creature’s armor-like scales. The hot-headed turtle immediately shot the human teen a fierce glare.

 “You idiot! You almost hit me!”

 “Hey, I said ‘look out!’” Casey retorted from behind his hockey mask, giving a small shrug of his shoulders. Raphael wasn’t given the chance to argue with him further. Casey’s pucks had done as little damage as the rest of them had, but they had succeeded in pulling the fish’s attention to the two of them.

 “Oh, crap…” Casey muttered as the abyssal monster lunged forward right at him. He held his hockey stick up in a feeble defense, snapping his eyes shut as he expected to be skewered on those huge dagger-like teeth at any moment. When the gruesome end he’d been anticipating never came, he cracked one eye open. Fishface had been stopped dead in his tracks, struggling to move forward in the face of what the beast must have thought was an immovable object. In reality, this ‘immovable object’ seemed dwarfed by the now-massive fish mutant, its form covered by a thick blue monk’s robe, two katana parried across the monster’s teeth and holding it at bay with seemingly impossible strength. Casey’s eyes widened, recognizing this deceptively humble-looking attire as that of the Brotherhood of Serenity.

 “N-no way…”

 

* * *

 

 

 The Professor hadn’t been faring much better than the young group of teens had been. A bit worse, actually, as he no longer carried a weapon on him. All he had was his neutralizing device he’d used on the robots and the Bombers, but that was useless here. The corpse-like mutant beast that was chasing after him didn’t run on Triceraton energy. Though it pained him to mistreat an invention of his, the lanky turtle was forced to unstrap the bulky device from his back, tossing it aside as he dashed between support pillars in an effort to evade his pursuer. The thing only served to weigh him down anymore, and he was just barely keeping ahead of the undead warthog as it was.

 Bebop, like the others, seemed to run on pure instincts alone anymore. He barreled after the Professor, swiping at him with those deadly tusks of his at any chance he got. He seemed unable to use any of the gadgets that had been fused into his body during his first mutation, likely unaware he could turn invisible at all. Out of shape as he was after five years of confining himself to a small room, the turtle at least had that to be thankful for.

 Soon, however, he found himself running out of things to be thankful for at about the same time he’d run out of places to run. He’d been chased into a corner. His back to the wall, the Professor could do little more than watch in terror as the mindless warthog closed in on him. Then, a sardonic smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Well, at least he’d been able to invent something useful there at the end.

 Suddenly, there was a loud squeal of pain, and at first the Professor was rather confused that it hadn’t come from himself. The zombified Bebop was gone from his field of vision, two trailing strips of fine blue silk fluttering before his face in his place. He traced the strips of cloth until his eyes came to rest on a scarred green head. Brother Zatoichi had the warthog pinned against the wall just next to the Professor, his katana blade driven through the back of the crazed mutant’s head. He took his glasses off and stared at them for a moment, as though they might be the cause of this most unlikely of visions, but when he looked back, the robed turtle was still there.

 “L-Leo! You actually came!” the lanky turtle stammered out in astonishment. Zatoichi didn’t turn his blindfolded eyes towards the other, but he let a small smile grace his lips.

 “I am glad that you are well, brother.” The monk replied as serenely as ever. He didn’t linger to mince words after that, pulling his katana from the dead warthog’s skull and dashing off towards where Seraphim was still fighting Tiger Claw. As he ran, he raised his voice to call out to his companion.

 “Sister! To your mission!”

 The female monk had just stopped Fishface in his tracks when she heard her superior calling out to her. She nodded her head under her heavy hood, leaping backwards and away from the grotesque sea creature. The mutant fish stumbled forward as the force stopping it was suddenly removed from its path. It didn’t take long for him to regain his bearing, though. He charged forward once more, his gaping mouth open wide to snap up this new foe. The monk leapt once more, but not backwards. She leapt _forward_ , straight into Fishface’s gaping maw.

 “Holy crap! Is she out of her damned mind?!” Raphael shouted as he watched those deadly jaws snap shut around the woman. The six teens cringed, fully expecting streams of crimson blood to come pouring from the fish’s mouth. A moment later, there was blood, but it wasn’t crimson, nor did it come just from the creature’s mouth. A thick black substance began leaking out from between the monster’s jagged teeth, streams of it running down the front of its face from where the tip of a katana could be seen sticking out through the top of its head. Fishface’s body collapsed an instant later, his jaws still closed tight around his killer.

 “We’ve gotta help her!” Leonardo called out once the shock of the moment had subsided. He ran forward, grabbing hold of the dead fish monster’s lower jaw and pulling with all his strength. The others joined him, Mikey and April helping him tug at the bottom jaw, while Raph, Donnie, and Casey worked on the top jaw in the opposite direction. Once they had managed to part those blade-like teeth, Leo rushed to reach in and pull the monk out. However, there was nothing left to grab.

 “Sh-she’s _gone!_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

 Brother Zatoichi came to an abrupt stop as he neared where Seraphim and Tiger Claw were battling. He waited a moment, listening to his surroundings carefully, then casually took a step backward. A moment later, a large mutant turtle came crashing against the wall about where the monk had been standing before he’d moved. He didn’t turn towards the other, but he did quirk an eyebrow.

 “Greetings, Raphael.” He stated calmly, though there was the distinct air of distaste in his tone. There was a growl of anger behind him as his brother jumped up to his feet.

 “Oh, well if it ain’t Friar Tuck finally come ta join the party! Wuzza matter, ya get bored with yer li’l cult and had ta find someone else ta preach to?!” Seraphim practically roared, fists clenching around his sais as he intentionally towered himself over the robed turtle. Zatoichi didn’t seem terribly impressed by the display. Then again, he couldn’t see it. Before either could say another word, the both of them abruptly and simultaneously ducked down low in time to avoid being struck by Tiger Claw’s lunging talons. The great beast roared in frustration as it attempted to pull its claws from where they’d embedded themselves in the wall, but even this wasn’t enough to stop the two brothers’ bickering.

 “My _organization_ had their role to play, unlike _you_ , who merely spends his days playing with _children_.” The monk replied evenly, as though he was completely oblivious to the deadly claws just inches above his head. Seraphim let out another snarl.

 “Oh yeah, _big_ role yer playin’ all the way out there in Amish country! I’m sure alla them horses and buggies are gonna come in real handy against the Shredder!”

 “Would you kindly explain how _Newark_ is much better?”

 The Professor poked his head out from behind a nearby pillar, interjecting in his brothers’ arguing without quite exposing himself to attack.

 “Fellas, _fellas!_ Y’know, it’s great how we’re all back together again and getting along just _swimmingly_ and all, but… _Is this really the time?!_ ”

 Tiger Claw had finally freed himself by this time and was already bringing those talons of his slashing down towards the two turtles. They each leapt to either side, letting the feline’s massive paws crash down against the ground between them where they’d been feuding a second ago. Seraphim glared across at Brother Zatoichi, as though the elder turtle was his real enemy.

 “Look, why don’t you just fuck off and leave this guy to me? Go help Mike if ya gotta butt in. That crippled bastard could use a hand more’n I could.” He growled out. Though he was still clearly trying to be belligerent, Zatoichi detected a slight softening in his brother’s tone. He gave the other a quick nod of his head before dashing off to help their youngest brother. Seraphim stared after the blind monk for a moment, whispering to himself.

 “Good ta see ya again, Leo…”

 

* * *

 

 

 The Colonel could indeed use the elder turtle’s help at the moment. Rahzar had come close to trapping him against the wall, and he had a few dozen long, black needles embedded in his forearm from the encounter, thin streams of blood dripping down his elbow as he kept his kama held up in defense. He cursed Baxter Stockman in his head. If this crazed canine hadn’t been mutated to have those damned needles for fur, he’d have jumped on his shoulders, slit his throat and ended this long ago. To be put on the run like this, and when he was so close to Shredder…

 But he hadn’t the time for internal lamentation. Rahzar was coming for him again and he couldn’t afford another close call. The canine lunged, aiming to snap the turtle’s remaining arm in his jaws. The Colonel dodged to the side, and finally managed to land a blow on the beast. His kama slashed at the large mutant’s leg, bringing him down to his knee and pulling a pained howl from him. Though he’d managed to land a blow, the one-armed turtle knew better than to let his guard down. His kama was raised before him once more, just as Rahzar’s claws came slashing towards him. There was the sound of those bony blades ringing against steel, but it wasn’t the steel of his kama blade. Rahzar’s claws crossed instead with the blade of a katana. The Colonel’s eyes widened in shock as he found himself staring at the back of a blue robe.

 “ _Leo?!_ ” he barked out in complete disbelief. Surely he hadn’t lost enough blood to be seeing things. Of the four of them, Leonardo was the last of his brothers he’d ever expected to see fighting by his side once more, yet here he was. Brother Zatoichi pushed the skeletal beast back, never turning to properly face his baby brother.

 “Go, brother. Kill the Shredder, end this war… and avenge our Sensei.”

 The Colonel couldn’t help but linger a moment, staring after his eldest brother as he immediately took up the fight against Rahzar in his place. Could this really be his chance? He turned towards where the Shredder still stood, staring across the vast chamber into those cold, hate-filled eyes of his father’s murderer.

 He charged, the rest of the world seeming to fade away into nothingness as he locked his attention on the fiend before him, readying his kama at his side in preparation for his opening strike. He slashed the instant he was close enough, and his blade rang against the steel of Shredder’s armored forearm. He didn’t wait to give his opponent time to launch a counterstrike, ducking down and aiming a second slash to tear open the old ninja master’s stomach. The man stepped back in time to avoid the strike, but it had come close enough to its mark to spark across the surface of his abdominal armor.

 Not one to be kept on the defensive, the Shredder aimed his long claw-like blades down at the mutant turtle. The Colonel wasn’t willing to put too much distance between himself and his enemy, and thus was unable to completely dodge the blow, the claws slashing into his left shoulder. He ignored the pain. It wasn’t important. That arm was gone anyway. He rose up at the ninja master’s side, raising his kama for what he intended to be the final blow; slicing the bastard’s head clean off.

 His blade was stopped just inches before making contact with its target, his wrist caught in a strong, almost crushing grasp. A pair of hard, mismatched eyes glared at the rebel leader from behind that steel mask, his gaze boring into the son of his most hated enemy, he who dared to continue Hamato Yoshi’s legacy. His grip tightened on the turtle’s wrist, pulling a strangled, reluctant cry of pain from him, his kama falling to the ground with a clatter.

 “How very fitting. For one who has wasted so many years fighting in his Master’s name…” the Shredder began in a low, venom-laced tone, the claws of his free hand lining up at the now helpless mutant’s abdomen. “… to _die_ like him as well.”

 

* * *

 

 

 Seraphim stood over the corpse of the fallen Tiger Claw, his foot braced against the feline’s neck as he pulled the blade of his sai from where it had been embedded in his foe’s skull. He drew in ragged breaths, the fight having winded him more than he’d thought it might. Perhaps he was starting to get a little too soft after all. Oh well. He’d killed the bastard, that’s all that mattered now. And he’d managed to do it without accepting any help from that damned monk.

 He glanced over to where he’d sent Zatoichi off to help the Colonel. The eldest of the brothers had just managed to finish off Rahzar as well, carefully prying his katana from where he’d buried it in the mutant canine’s chest. The larger turtle’s brows furrowed. Where was the Colonel?

 That was when he heard it; the strangled cry of pain, the sound of a weapon clattering to the ground. He looked up in the direction the cry had come from, up where Shredder had been watching over their battle. The scene that awaited him there was almost enough to make his heart drop clean out of his chest. The Colonel stood before the armored demon himself, his wrist trapped in the man’s grip, the back of his cloak stained with a growing patch of bright red blood. In the center of that patch of blood, sticking out of the back of his baby brother’s shell, were the tips of two claw-like blades. The Colonel, Mike, his _brother_ , had been skewered. He’d been run through, just as their Master had been fifteen years ago.

 “ _No!_ ” Seraphim cried out in anguish, sprinting across the room towards the horrifying tableau. “ _Mikey!_ ”


	8. To the Bitter End

 Colonel Hamato felt no pain at first. At least if he did feel it, he’d immediately pushed it out of his mind. All he could do was stare forward into the sinister, triumphant gleam in the Shredder’s eyes. Was this really how it was all to end? He’d fought so hard, struggled for so long, and this was his fate; to die staring his most hated enemy in the eyes, a failure.

 No… No, he _refused_ to let this be his last moment. He couldn’t lose like this. He couldn’t let his Sensei down, not while he was in arms’ reach of the man who had taken his Master’s life. The Colonel tugged to free his held wrist with all his might, a fresh hatred burning in his eyes. It wasn’t clear if he’d found some new strength or if Shredder was simply too confident to bother to hold him still any longer, but he managed to pull his arm free. He clamped his hand around the ninja master’s other arm, the one whose blades were still buried deep in his gut. He took a defiant step forward, pulling his enemy towards him with one strong jerk.

 He tried to stifle an agonized grunt as he felt the bladed claws pierce deeper into him, the sensations from his shocked body finally catching up with him. He ignored it. He ignored it all; the involuntary trembling of pain, the white-hot burning in his stomach, the blood rising in his throat, the taste of copper in his mouth, the trickle of crimson down his chin. None of it mattered. He still had a job to do, a promise to his father to keep. His hand, shaking though it was, left the Shredder’s arm and shot up with determination, his fingers wrapping themselves firmly around the bastard’s throat. He couldn’t die, not yet. Not until he’d seen this heartless demon as a corpse first.

 Oroku Saki stared down at the skewered turtle with amusement clear in his cold eyes. The hand at his throat, though it surely squeezed with all the strength it had left, was far from strangling him. If fact, he could feel the grip getting weaker by the second, the hatred in the dying mutant’s eyes melting into frustrated despair. He let a satisfied smile cross his scarred lips under his mask.

 “I must give you credit, Colonel. You are more resilient than your failure of a Master, at the very least.” He taunted in a low rumble. “But your struggle is just as futile as hi—“

 The Shredder’s words were cut off abruptly just as the Colonel’s hand fell limp from his throat, a feeling like a bolt of lightning striking through his torso. He looked down, eyes wide and staring down at the tip of the katana that was sticking out of his chest, having pierced clean through his breastplate. He raised a shaking hand to grip at the bloody blade. Who could have done this? The other three turtles were still out in front of him, clearly in view the whole time. Even the six young ones those fools had dragged along with them could be seen off at some distance. But if not them, if not his sworn enemies, then _who?_

 He turned his head to look back over his shoulder, letting the Colonel’s body slide from his claws. Standing just behind him, hand still firmly gripping the hilt of the katana in his back, was a woman in a blue robe. Her hood was pulled back, long raven hair falling down past her shoulders, glistening like fine black silk. A beautiful Asian face stared back at him, though her dark eyes held nothing but contempt for the man before her. At first glance, Oroku Saki had nearly been convinced that he was staring into the face of his beloved Tang Shen. The only features on the woman’s face that had dispelled this fantasy were the two red tattoos under her eyes.

 “ _K-Karai!_ ” he gasped out, unable to believe it even as her name passed his lips. Her dark eyes narrowed in distain as he addressed her, and she gracefully brought her second katana up to rest against the side of the Shredder’s neck.

 “My name is _Miwa_.”

 And a moment later, the man’s head fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

 

* * *

 

 

The Colonel struggled to keep his eyes open as the strength continued to drain from his body, his vision growing blurry. He could barely breathe, he felt like he was drowning. Likely blood in his lungs, he thought. He kept his trembling hand clasped tight over the two holes in his abdomen, though it did little to keep the blood from pouring out in streams now that the Shredder’s blades had been removed from his body. He could feel the puddle continuing to grow under his shell where he lay, his body starting to grow cold on him. He’d never been in so much pain in his life. Why, then, could he not wipe the smile off of his face?

 With an effort, he lifted his head, looking over towards where Miwa stood over the Shredder’s beheaded body, casually wiping the blood from her blades on the fabric of her robe before sheathing them. Talk about out of left field… That she had been alive at all was amazing in itself, but to be the one to finally kill their father’s murderer in the end? He’d never have imagined it. He wasn’t bitter towards her for taking his kill. After all, she was Hamato Yoshi’s biological daughter, and the Shredder had taken more than a father away from her. He supposed she deserved the finishing blow more than he ever had.

 When he let his head rest back again, he found that it was now lying in someone’s lap. He looked up, trying to cut through the dark fog that was closing in from the edges of his vision. Three figures knelt over him now, and he didn’t need to see their faces to know who they were.

 “L-Leo…” his voice came out in a ragged, almost strangled whisper. It was the best he could manage at the moment. “Th-that’s one he-… helluva ace up your sleeve…”

 Brother Zatoichi, though his blind eyes were covered in that blue silk band, still managed to look sincerely mournful as he bowed his head over his dying brother.

 “I apologize for deceiving you for so long… For deceiving _all_ of you.” The monk began softly, almost soothingly. “I couldn’t let the Shredder find Miwa. It was vital that I kept her away, that I kept her safe. If the Shredder had known she was still alive, he’d have had so much stronger a cause to continue his fighting. I couldn’t let him have that until I knew we were capable of finishing him once and for all.

 “I… I must confess, I used you and your rebellion as a distraction. Your army was the only thing that could break through into the Shredder’s stronghold, and I had to bide my time until you finally managed to do it. I wanted so badly to join your fight, baby brother. I truly did. You were brave, and you showed a level of leadership that I’d have never thought you capable of. I’m _immeasurably_ proud of you, of all you’ve done, and for never giving up. I only regret that we couldn’t do it without you having to pay for the victory with your life…”

 The Colonel stared up at his eldest brother for a moment. So, even after all these years, his primary function was still ‘live bait,’ eh? He tried to laugh at the irony, but a sharp jolt of pain cut it off before it really began. He looked down at himself, raising his hand from his wound, his palm soaked with his own blood, the crimson streams streaking down his forearm. He then felt a large hand close around his own, trying to still its trembling. He looked up towards the hand’s owner, at whose lap his head currently rested against. Seraphim stared down at him, his right cheek already streaked with tears.

 “Y-you cryin’ Raph..?” he teased hoarsely, letting a small smirk tug at his paling lips. “C-c’mon, bro… S’just a… a flesh wound…”

 Seraphim bit at his bottom lip, looking away as though he was struggling to keep some measure of restraint. Even in a state like this, Mike still managed to find the time to make a joke. He’d been so stupid to think his baby brother had completely changed, that he’d become someone different. Underneath all of the bravado he’d built up, under all of the hardening he’d had to go through, under his tough military act… He was still Mikey after all. Seraphim felt like a complete jackass. Donatello, April, and Casey had all stayed by Mike’s side, and even Leonardo had been plotting something to help from afar, but _him?_ What excuse had _he_ for turning his back on his own brother? Simply that he was unwilling to follow anyone but himself?

 “I-I’m sorry, Mike…” he began, his voice cracking a bit under the strain of trying to keep a flood of emotion at bay. “I shoulda stayed with you like you asked. I-I shoulda been here, fightin’ with you the whole time. I can’t believe some of the things I said to ya…I take it all back, every word, every rotten thing I ever called you. You ain’t a psychopath, and you ain’t a monster. Y-yer… Yer a good man, Mike. A far better man than I’ve ever been…”

 “I-it’s okay, Raph… It’s…”

 Seraphim waited for Mike to continue his soft assurances, but nothing but silence came. Reluctantly, he looked down to where his brother’s head still rested in his lap. Mike’s light blue eyes continued to stare up at him, though all the life had gone from them, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips. He tightened his grip on the blood-soaked hand still resting in his, its trembling suddenly ceased. Seraphim shook his head slightly, his lips mouthing a silent plea that what he knew had just happened wasn’t true. After a moment, he pulled his baby brother’s body close, buried his face against his shoulder, and wept.

 

* * *

 

 

 The young turtles from the past had kept a respectful distance from their future counterparts, though none of them seemed able to pull their eyes away from the scene before them. The Professor’s supposed death had been shocking, but they had been so far removed from the situation that it almost didn’t seem real, even at the time. But this? To stand there and watch – actually _watch_ – as one of them slipped into death? None of them could have truly appreciated how devastating such a sight could be without having seen it with their own eyes.

 Leonardo glanced to the side, over towards where Michelangelo stood. There were tears in his eyes, but he’d expected that, of course. He looked absolutely stunned, his mouth half open as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words, nor whom he should speak them to. Leo would have liked to say he understood, but he wasn’t sure if he really did. After all, it’s not every day you have to watch yourself die. It was an experience he’d wished none of them would have had to witness.

 The group of them seemed so enthralled by the tragic scene that none of them noticed when a square portal of bright white light opened up in thin air behind them. A caped figure leapt out, a gold headdress framing a young woman’s smiling face.

 “ _There_ you are!” Renet called out as she dashed over to the six teens, her master’s Time Scepter clasped tightly in her hands. “Man, I’ve been looking all over the time stream for you guys! If you’re gonna be traveling through hyperspace like that, you gotta be more careful about it!”

 The young Time Master waited for a response from one of them, but nothing came. They all just stared forward, seemingly frozen in time. Renet tilted her head slightly, then traced their gaze over to where the Turtle’s older counterparts knelt, mourning their fallen brother. She cringed, looking away from the scene and rubbing at the back of her neck. Well, this was awkward.

 “Ah, geez… Of all the times they could have gone to…” she mumbled, mostly to herself. She then turned back to the unwitting time travelers, a not terribly convincing smile on her face.

 “O-okie dokie, fellas! Let’s all get going! I kinda _really_ need to get you all back to Professor Honeycutt now!” she pleaded, putting quite a bit of effort into trying to sound chipper. The six teens lingered a moment longer, but they eventually began filing through the portal in silence. Leonardo was about to pass through the portal when he happened to look back. Raphael was still standing there, his back to the rest of them as he continued to watch the older turtles. Leo let out a small sigh.

 “Raph! Are you coming or what?” he called out impatiently. He then watched as Raphael hastily wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, drew in a deep breath, and finally turned to face his older brother with the worst attempt at keeping a straight face that Leo had ever seen. He had good taste enough not to mention anything about it.

 

* * *

 

 

 The mood hadn’t improved much when the group of them found themselves back on the Ulixes. No one could find the heart to speak as they followed Renet down the corridor to the bridge. If that was the future, if that was their fate, could they really bring themselves to continue their fight with the same spirit they had before? Even if they managed to restore Earth…

 “Ahhh! By Darwin’s beard, I’m such an idiot!”

 Everyone stopped and turned at Donatello’s sudden outcry, giving the lanky turtle a questioning look.

 “All that time we were in the future… I can’t believe I never _once_ asked how they managed to bring Earth back!”

 At this revelation, the other five teens looked as though they had all sunk into an even deeper level of despair. Renet, however, merely let out a light giggle.

 “Oh, don’t you worry about that! The Fugitoid has that all taken care of!” she said with genuine cheer in her voice before leading them through a door that slid open automatically to let them step onto the main bridge of the ship. Professor Honeycutt was already standing there waiting for them, though the even rows of scuff marks on the ground suggested that he may have been pacing there for some time as he waited for Renet to retrieve his young charges.

 “Oh, well it’s about bloody time! My dear girl, I’m quite sure you could have been back almost immediately after having left. You _are_ a Time Master after all, aren’t you?” he scolded Renet, sounding just a bit snippier than his normal calm self. The young woman could do nothing but shrug her shoulders and spread her hands helplessly.

 “ _Assistant_ Time Master… in training…” she replied, mumbling that last bit. The Fugitoid seemed to give her the robotic equivalent of an exasperated sigh before turning towards the returned teens.

 “Oh well, I suppose it can’t be helped. You’re all back, and that’s all that matters. Of course, while you lot were off on your little ‘timey-wimey’ adventure, I was busy at work getting your muddy little planet back.”

 The robot then indicated the large forward view screen with a sweep of his arm, a gleaming marble of blue, green, and white spinning serenely in the center. All six of them rushed forward to get a better look, practically pressing their noses against the surface of the screen. It was Earth, all right. Their home was back, and seemingly untouched by the Triceraton menace.

 “N-no way!” Leonardo exclaimed in awe. “I-it’s Earth! How did you get it back?!”

 “If I had to take an educated guess…” Donatello began, his eyes quickly studying the image on the screen. “I’d say it was another case of time travel! Look, the orbit of the Earth and Moon indicate that this must be about six months before the arrival of the Triceratons!”

 “You’re _welcome_ , by the by.” The Fugitoid mumbled, feeling perhaps a tad underappreciated at the moment.

 Leonardo couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. Six months in the past… That meant they still had a chance to change things. He turned back to his brothers, a renewed determination in his eyes.

 “Alright guys, we’ve got one hell of a second chance here. Everything we saw in the future, everything that happened there… It all stemmed from Master Splinter’s death. If we can keep the Shredder from killing Sensei, we shouldn’t ever have to worry about those horrible things happening to us. We can still change it. We just have to stick together. Are you guys with me?”

 His little speech earned him a nod from both Donatello and Raphael, but one of the brothers was distinctly absent from the group. The thought alone sent chills up the back of Leo’s shell. He glanced past the others and, thankfully, spotted Mikey standing off by himself, staring out at the Earth outside. He didn’t seem nearly as excited as he might normally have been at such a turn of events. In fact, it was hard to read anything in his expression at the moment. The eldest of the brothers let out a sigh, casting a quick glance over at Raphael, who understood immediately and nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

 “Hey, Mikey. You doin’ okay?”

 Michelangelo only briefly glanced over as Raphael took a spot standing next to him, his eyes returning to stare at the view screen.

 “I’m fine.” He replied eventually, though Raphael instantly recognized it as the biggest lie his little brother had ever told. He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck.

 “Look… Y’know, if ya wanna talk about it…”

 But Michelangelo replied with a shake of his head, trying his best to put on a concealing smile even as tears continued to gather in his eyes.

 “N-nah, it’s cool… I-I mean… I’m supposed to be some big badass one day, right? I-I guess I hafta man up and start acting like it, don’t I?”

 “ _No!_ ” Raphael retorted immediately, perhaps a bit more forcefully than he’d originally intended. Mikey looked up to him with a questioning expression, but found himself suddenly pulled into a tight hug before he could say anything. The younger turtle could have sworn he could feel Raph’s arms trembling slightly where they wrapped themselves around his shoulders.

 “No, you ain’t gotta do anything like that… I-in fact… I want you to promise me right now that you won’t _ever_ change one bit. You’re perfect just the way you are.” He added. Then, his voice lowering, his tone growing a bit shakier, “P-please… Don’t ever leave us like that…”

 Michelangelo stood there for a moment, unmoving, making no attempt to wiggle his way out of his big brother’s embrace. Then, he wrapped his arms around the other, letting his head rest against Raphael’s shoulder.

 “I promise…”


	9. Epilogue

 Raphael stood in ankle-deep snow, the collar of his jacket turned up against the biting winter wind. He ignored the cold as best he could, for as long as his reptilian blood would allow. He was starting to get used to it, he told himself. It had begun to snow that day and hadn’t stopped since. How long had it been? Three days? Perhaps a week? It felt more like years, his heart growing colder with every agonizing second that had passed. Not once had he seen the sun after that hellish dawn, the sky having been painted gray with persistent, mournful clouds. The remains of the city lay silent under a blanket of white snow for as far as the eye could see, peaceful as a grave.

 He stood before an altar carefully constructed of stacked wood, Michelangelo’s body lain across the top, his eyes closed, his lips just barely holding onto the remnants of his last smile. If Raphael hadn’t known better, he might have convinced himself that his brother was merely sleeping. How he wished that were so. A fine dusting of white had begun to gather over his still form, the snowflakes resting unmelted over his pale green skin.

 There was so much that had been left unsaid between the two of them, so much he wished he could tell his baby brother, so much time he wished he could have made up between them. But it was far too late for any of that now. Michelangelo was gone, and though Raphael would fight through Hell itself to bring his baby brother back, he knew no such opportunity could be given to him. Not anymore. He’d had his chances, and he’d selfishly thrown them all away.

 “Why are we still here..?” Raphael asked in a hoarse whisper, not troubling himself to keep his voice from wavering. “Those kids… They saw everything. They knew what was going to happen. Th-they… They were supposed to _change_ it… They were supposed to make it so this future never had to happen. So why in the hell are we _still here?!_ ”

 Donatello had been sitting silently nearby on a large chunk of concrete rubble, his elbows resting on his knees, his glasses folded up and clasped loosely in his hands, his gaunt face staring expressionlessly at the smooth cover of snow at his feet. He hadn’t said much since Michelangelo’s death. Hell, he’d almost seemed to slip back into his previous catatonia after it had happened. The only thing that had kept him from receding back into his own mind in grief was the fact that he knew, this time, there was absolutely nothing that he could do to change the state of things. No equations, no last-minute miracle inventions could bring their brother back from the dead. Finally, he let out a sigh, shaking his head at Raphael’s question.

 “Time might not work like that, Raph… There’s really nothing but speculation that suggests that a change to the past would completely eliminate the future that existed before. They could very well have made the changes necessary to keep all this from happening in their timeline, but it’s entirely possible that our own timeline may still exist in parallel. We may be a diverging branch, just off the main path of history. We might not just blink out of existence, just like that. This world could continue to remain on into eternity…”

 Into eternity, eh? So there would be no ceasing to exist? Even though the past would be changed, this fate would remain for them? Raphael would have to live on for the rest of his life knowing that, had he just been man enough to swallow his pride, he might have been able to keep his brother from dying. He reached out a trembling hand, gingerly brushing away the fine dusting of snow that had gathered over Michelangelo’s face. Could he do it? Could he live with himself after everything that had happened?

 The sound of footsteps crunching in the shallow snow approached slowly. Raphael managed to tear his eye away from his brother’s corpse long enough to look back at the new arrivals. He almost hadn’t recognized them without their blue robes. Leonardo wore a long black trench coat, and seemed to have traded in his silk blindfold for a pair of dark, round sunglasses. Miwa stood at his side wearing a black kimono, her hair pulled up in a traditional Japanese style, her pale skin nearly as white as the snow around them. She stood back a small distance as the eldest of the brothers approached the altar.

 “Just you two?” Raphael asked softly, to which Leonardo gave a solemn nod of his head.

 “April won’t be coming. Sergei couldn’t delay the ship back to St. Petersburg any longer. It’s a long journey, and they still have to take Rocksteady’s remains home to Russia for a proper burial. They said they’d be back as soon as they could to help rebuild, but…”

 Raphael gave a small nod of understanding. Perhaps it was better this way, with just the four of them here. Just family. Those who had served under Colonel Hamato in his rebel faction had wanted to be present, but none of them felt that would have been appropriate. They’d given the soldiers time to pay their last respects to their commander, but this moment was too personal to share with an entire military regimen.

 Leonardo pulled something from his coat pocket, and Raphael almost couldn’t hold back a fresh wave of tears when he saw what it was; a thin strip of faded orange cloth, the fabric almost translucent with age. It was Michelangelo’s mask, the one Master Splinter had made for him all those years ago. Leonardo stepped forward and delicately laid the mask across his baby brother’s chest.

 Donatello rose from where he sat, hands shaking lightly as he put his glasses on – either from the cold or the dread of the moment, he couldn’t tell – and he joined the other two at the altar. The three brothers stood there, silent, as they stared down at their youngest brother’s body. None of them had ever thought this moment would come; when they would have to say goodbye to one of the four of them. It wasn’t supposed to have happened, at least not so soon. Not like this. Raphael choked back his emotions with an effort as he turned to Leonardo once more.

 “Y-yer the priest… Say somethin’…” he urged weakly, unable to bring himself to the task of eulogizing on his own. Leonardo let out a sigh, bowing his head.

 “I’m not a priest, Raph… And I don’t think I have much room to speak about him after all the bad blood I’d fostered between us, even if it was hollow on my end…”

 Raphael then turned his gaze to Donatello. He’d been with Michelangelo all this time, after all. Unfortunately, all the lanky turtle could do was shake his head sharply, looking away so his older brother couldn’t see the tears quickly gathering behind his glasses. Raphael drew in a deep breath, turning his gaze back to the altar.

 “Y-yeah, well… Mikey never was one for a lotta meaningless words anyway… I don’t think he’d want us sittin’ here and makin’ him out to sound bigger than he was. I… I think we should just say… I love you, Mikey. We _all_ do. And… We’re gonna miss you, little brother…”

 They stood there for a long moment after Raphael stopped speaking, their heads bowed in respect to their fallen brother. After a moment, Leonardo made a barely noticeable motion with his hand. Miwa stepped forward as unobtrusively as she could, kneeling to one side of the carefully stacked wood of the altar, retrieving a match and a small piece of tinder from her sleeve. She struck the match, lit the tinder, and reached into the hollow center of the pile to set the funeral pyre ablaze.

 The four stood there in silence and watched as Michelangelo’s body was slowly consumed in flames, the smoke reaching upward and disappearing against the gray sky above. And though a great fire blazed mere feet before them, the three brothers knew they would never feel true warmth again for as long as they lived.


End file.
